A web of his making
by StormInTheBlueSky
Summary: He wanted someone to understand him, truly and fully, for who he was. When she walked in on him committing a murder, he decided it would be interesting to see how far he could push her until she fell apart or rejected him. Or would she instead accept him? Hannibal x OC.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

It was a cold, clear night. The moon hung high in the sky, casting long shadows and drawing stark silhouettes of the blocky industrial buildings. Indeed, it was a fine night for exploring the murky depths of abandoned complexes.

Mika Aranuki skirted along the side of the building, her breath bated and muscles taught. She felt alive, dodging security cameras and criminals alike. The chilly air felt crisp against her skin and she was aware of every movement, every sound, in the deep, dark night.

Tonight, her target was a shutdown chemical plant. From previous scouting trips, she knew that there was a hole in the wall that would serve as an entrance on the north corner of the building, obscured by debris. Nimble and silent, she wove between the wreckage and toward the entrance. There, she paused, her gloved hand resting on the smooth brick wall. All was still, so she felt confident enough to continue on and squeeze through the misshapen hole.

Inside was not a treasure or anything particularly extravagant. But that was no surprise. She strode past the heaps of garbage and odd clusters of broken machinery. She was not here for the contents of the building.

At this point, the moonlight was insufficient to guide the way, so she took a flashlight out with a small sigh. Immediately after she turned it on, there was a flutter of noise: the scurrying of rats and flapping of the wings of startled pigeons. Then, thankfully, blissful silence once more.

With the lights on, the place was no better. Mika could make out all the strange stains and pools of questionable origin. Still, she pushed on, heading deeper into the building. She was looking for the central staircase so she had no choice but to head in further. She wandered from one room to another, not observing much of a change in cleanliness. Then, she spotted something strange. The tiniest sliver of light was coming from further down one of the hallways. She stopped and turned off her flashlight, at a crossroads.

She felt the light pulling her like a magnet, despite the possible danger that lay ahead. Part of her was more reluctant, preferring instead to stay on task. She teetered from foot to foot and took a deep breath when her curiosity won out. Her heart was beating faster, the adrenaline like a fire through her veins. Slowly, she meandered down the hall, finally stopping in front of the door. All she could tell was that this was another large production type room. The lights did not flicker, and she could not hear any sounds coming from inside. She stared at the door knob, weighing her options. There was a chance she was about to walk into a drug lab, as had happened to her once before. It was not an experience she wanted to repeat. She narrowed her eyes and wrung out her hands, frustrated at her own dangerous curious impulses.

With the skill of a practiced trespasser, she silently opened the door. First with one eye, then with both, she peeked inside. A faint, yellowish glow was emanating from deeper in, and she could not see the light source. Cautiously, she opened the door further, holding it firmly lest it make any noise. After some hesitation, she stepped inside, leaving the door open behind her. This room was different from the others, cleaner. A strange smell wafted through the air, like that of melted metal. Perhaps someone was going through the leftover chemicals.

The faint light was coming from behind a large, grey screen that looked like it had been set up recently from the lack of stains and dust on it. All around the screen, there was no garbage, and there were no stains on the floor. Now she thought that a vagrant was responsible. She had seen many self-built homeless abodes before, some of them very elaborate and well put together. Still, she had come this far, and she was determined to see this through. She tiptoed closer to the screen, prepared to flee at any moment.

As she looked behind the screen, the felt the blood freeze in her veins. Her eyes rapidly scanned the space in front of her as she struggled to comprehend what she was seeing. A sick, cold, sinking feeling ran down her spine, and she could feel her stomach in her abdomen. Still, she was frozen in place. The _thing_ she was staring at left her transfixed.

On a large metal table, there lay a man. At least, she thought it was a man. His limbs were severed and gruesomely connected again with scraps of mental. His mouth was agape, and silver slits were in place of his eyes. His body was twisted and mangled, the reattached limbs jutting out at awkward angles.

A violent shudder shook her, and her hands reached up to cover her mouth. She had walked in on a murder scene. A sudden through startled her – what if the murderer was still in the building?

Quickly, she turned and marched toward the door. After a brief glance around, she bolted back the way she came. The fear clouded her mind, and she could barely see where she was going. At a split in the hallway, she stopped abruptly, having trouble recalling where she came from.

The tiniest sound of a shoe treading on the dusty ground snapped her out of her mind. Again, she found herself paralyzed with fear. Someone was close by.

As a reflex, she put her hands up, as if to surrender. Her fingers shook and she could barely stand still. Before she realized it, she said, "I know you're there."

Her voice was shaky and she cursed internally. Countless phrases, or pleas for mercy, echoed in her mind, but she decided to try something different.

"I'm sorry I interrupted your work."

Greeted by silence, she continued, "I don't want to interfere. You probably have some plan of presenting your work and I don't want to get in the way of that."

Then, she added, "I will tell no one. If the police find out I've been trespassing again, they'll put me in jail for sure this time."

She stopped, tense and anxious. It was dark and silent, but she was not comforted by it now. The feeling of fear was indescribable, like death had a grip on her very soul. The faint footsteps came closer, one at a time. Mika did not move, not wanting to be perceived as a threat. Or rather, she couldn't move. When the footsteps were right behind her, she started to shake, her hands still raised.

The seconds ticked by, yet no angry hands grabbed her. She could feel him so close that she imagined if she leaned back just a touch, she would feel him. She felt like an insect, standing helplessly under a foot that was about to come down. For a moment, she swore she heard him lean in and take a deep breath.

Confused, she stuttered, "I am going to walk away now. If you want, we can forget this ever happened. You will never see me again."

Her body screamed at her to run, but she took one step at a time, down the hallway. No footsteps followed, but she was slow and careful each step of the way. By the time she made it to the exit, she felt she had aged a year. Her clothes were drenched in sweat, and her legs were shaking. Her mind was numb and she was not sure how she made it home that night. When she got through the door of her house, she broke down, on her knees in the foyer. That was the night she met the Chesapeake Ripper.

 **End chapter 1.**

 **Short chapter to start with! I started writing this fanfic quite a while ago, and have slowly been chipping away at it in my spare time. Let me know what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

A month later, a small, dark blue box appeared on her doorstep. There was no return address, nor was it addressed to her. Curious, she took it inside that Saturday morning. There had been no ring at the door, and she had noticed it by chance when she had glanced out of the window.

"No post on the weekend," she muttered as she set it down on her kitchen table and stared at it. The box was smooth and heavy, with a slightly lighter dark blue ribbon tied into a bow at the top. The kitchen clock ticked in the background and she pondered this strange event. All the people who usually sent her parcels did so by regular mail, never bothering to come to her home.

Part of her was giddy with excitement. What if it was a secret admirer? Realizing how silly she was being she sighed loudly. She narrowed her eyes at the box, almost upset with it for interrupting her peaceful morning.

With a short huff, she tugged on the bow. It slid apart slickly and smoothly, the silk soft in her fingers. Then, she lifted up the lid and with bated breath, looked inside.

A flash of white. The adrenaline rush almost blinded her and she backed away from the table in shock. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she felt lightheaded from the sudden surprise.

 _What the hell_.

Thinking she was hallucinating, she turned away and looked out of the window. It took several deep breaths before she felt calm enough to look again. Slowly, she approached the desk again and with a furrowed brow, looked inside.

Sure enough, nothing had changed. There it was, the tongue. Someone had actually sent her a tongue. From the looks of it, it was human, too. It appeared to have been cleanly cut away, washed and delicately placed on a black silky cushion.

A quiet thought suggested this was just a prank, but the wrenching feeling in her gut told her otherwise. It was _him._ It had to be.

The day after her encounter with a mutilated body in the chemical plant, she had read about it in the newspaper.

"CHESAPEAKE RIPPER STRIKES AGAIN"

The headlines blared speculation about the serial killer for weeks after that. Grizzly details of the mutilation were being published and much to her disgust, they matched exactly what she had seen. She still could not get over the fact that she had been in the same room as this famed murderer. More importantly, that he had let her leave that room.

She stared hard at the tongue. There was no note, but the message was clear.

 _Hold your tongue._

Running her hands through her hair, she let out another heavy sigh. This had many more implications than the threat alone. For one, he knew where she lived. She had no idea how he had found her, but it unnerved her to no end. From what she had read about him in the papers, she knew that he was a ruthless killer, renowned for his theatrical mutilations. The intense urge to run seized her. What if she was next?

She closed the box and cupped her face in her hands. She wondered what to do with the tongue. After all, there was no bin in the community recycling centre for human remains. She ran scenario after scenario in her mind, and none of them looked good. If she was caught by the police, the Ripper would think she was talking with them and she was as good as dead.

Looking up, she frowned at the box. For now, she would keep it. With a disgusted grimace, she put it into her freezer.

* * *

Another month of paranoid comings and goings was taking its toll on her. Ever since she had found out that the Ripper knew where she lived, she felt like a stranger inside her own home. She started working later nights, and staying out more. Any excuse to stay away from home would do. More often than not, it was the gym. She channeled her fears with the treadmill, calming herself with the thought that maybe, she could run away. Sore and exhausted, she would come home only to shower and sleep. Then, she would rise early in the morning and head off to work. It was a painful existence and she felt angry, both at herself and the Ripper. If only she were not such a coward.

On another late night, she wandered the city streets. These dark streets were more of a comfort than anything else. She headed toward the river, where she often liked to sit on a bench and stare out at the water. It was cold outside, the autumn chills becoming more frequent each week.

She turned a corner, ducking into a narrow alley that would serve as a shortcut. There were no lights, but she knew the place so well she had no need for it. Or so she thought.

Before she could react, she was grabbed from behind. One hand clamped firmly down on her mouth and she froze when she felt a needle jab into her neck. She struggled with all of her might, but whoever this was, they were strong enough to contain her. The corners of her mind got darker, and with each heartbeat, she could feel her limbs grow stiffer. She wanted to claw at the gloved hand over her mouth, but felt her arm drop at her side instead. The cold embrace of darkness was all that was left.

The sound of water dripping woke her. First it was dull and distant, but as she come to, it became clearer and more urgent. With a twitch, she opened her eyes and tensed up. She was bound to a large wooden chair, tied to it with a thick rope. The rough material was tight against her arms and legs, and she quickly realized that this was not something she could wriggle out of.

There was a fog in her mind and she strained to see what was around her. The dripping was incessant, like a thundering annoyance now. She groaned at the drugged state of her mind. Squinting, she could make out a few shapes in the darkness. Close to her, there was a large table with a sheet covering it. Just ahead of the table was a large, tinted window. Dim yellow light filtered through, casting barely discernible shadows on the room. She tried to turn and see what was behind her, but the broad, tall back of the chair obscured her view.

As the effects of the drug became less evident, she felt her heart race. This place, this darkness, this silence; it felt cold. She pulled at the restraints again, her mind numbly swirling around the idea of death. She was not ready to die, not like this.

By the time she heard faint footsteps behind her, she was out of her mind with fear. He was going to kill her, there was no question about it. And there was nothing she could do. The panic was overwhelming, her thoughts becoming less coherent by the minute.

The footsteps stopped right behind her and she stared forward with wide eyes. The silence was deafening, but the sound of her own shallow breathing was like a storm, drowning everything else out. With trembling lips, she stuttered, "I never said a word to anyone."

There was no reply. Instead, her kidnapper stepped out and slowly walked to stand in front of her. He was clad in something slightly shiny, like a suit made of plastic. His face was covered with a black mask and she could not tell where the holes for the eyes were. All she could do was stare up at him, silently pleading for her life.

After what seemed like an eternity, he turned away from her and walked to the side, where he pulled a switch and turned on a light. She closed her eyes for a moment, but then stared at him again. Indeed, he was wearing a one-piece outfit of plastic. Underneath was only black, making it seem like he had an unearthly shine to him. The mask covered his whole head and he wore gloves so there was nothing she could tell about his age or skin colour. Perhaps he wasn't even a man.

With a new source of light, she could see that there was something under the sheet on the table. A chill went down her spine. The shape of that something had an awfully human resemblance. She furrowed her brow. There had not been any reports of the Ripper killing two people at once. But, the flash of hope quickly turned to bitter despair. The Ripper was, if nothing else, constantly reinventing himself.

He half turned toward her, and with an elegant stroke, pulled the sheet off the table. She looked away, disappointed to see that indeed, a woman lay on the table. She was fully clothed, clad in a sweatshirt and jeans. Her long blond hair hung over the edge of the table and even from that distance, she could see that the woman wore a lot of makeup.

The Ripper turned to her suddenly and reached over. Instinctively, she flinched away from his hand. She clenched her teeth when he grabbed her by the chin. However, she did not resist when he turned her head to look at the body again.

He stepped back and faced the woman again. With practiced care, he put his fingers to her throat and she realized that he was checking her pulse. She was still alive. Wide-eyed and transfixed on his every move, she barely breathed as he reached over and grabbed a screwdriver. He held the tool in both of his hands and she heard him inhale.

He had only raised his arms to the height of his chest when she screamed, "No!"

It had escaped her throat before she could stop herself. She knew what he wanted to do, he had done this sort of thing before. Sometimes, he liked to impale his victims with all sorts of objects.

He turned sharply toward her and she flinched away again. As before, he took a step toward her and pulled her chin back in the same direction, more sharply this time. She opened her eyes and he was staring right at her.

Again, impulse took over and she said, "Does she have to die? What did she do?"

Her voice wavered toward the end, as his posture became more angled toward her. He seemed thoughtful for a moment and he reached over to grab something. When he brought a piece of paper closer to her, she furrowed her brow. It looked like a traffic ticket for speeding and hazardous driving.

"You're going to kill her because she is a bad driver?" she asked, disbelief apparent in her tone.

He tilted his head to the side, as if prompting her to say more.

"So she did something to offend you directly, then," she mused out loud. Her features darkened. Regardless of the possible reasons, there was no justification for cold blooded murder.

He noticed the emotions fleeting across her face and put the traffic tickets away. Then, he walked around the table so as to have to body before him and to face her at the same time. Again, he grabbed the screwdriver in both hands and lifted.

In an instant, the delicate silence was shattered by screaming. So much screaming. He had stabbed the woman in the abdomen, causing Mika to yell out in protest. At the same time, the pain woke the woman and she let out the most horrified shriek she had ever heard. Yet, despite the noise, the woman was otherwise motionless. It seems she was drugged as well.

The screaming died down to a sorrowful whimper and Mika stared at her knees with wide eyes. She could feel herself shaking and the screaming was still in her mind, echoing. The sound of quick footsteps made her tense up. This time, he grabbed her by the top of the head and again, made her look at the woman. She could feel the warm blood from his gloves on her skin and she shuddered.

"You want me to watch," she whispered, finally understanding the reason for the unwelcome physical contact.

He stepped away once-more and grabbed another tool, this time a set of pliers. He stood closer to the woman's head and held the pliers for her to see. She let out another wail, incapable of coherent speech.

"Wait! Wait! You don't have to do this!" Mika pleaded anew.

Then, feeling bolder, she said, "Tell me her name. Let me at least know who she is."

It was silent for a moment, but between laboured breathing, the woman rasped, "Liana."

The Ripper stood unmoving, seemingly unconcerned by this turn of events.

"Liana, that's a lovely name," Mika said, her voice cracking toward the end. The thought of death looming so close-by was suffocating.

"What is your last-"

She was cut off by another agonized scream. He had stabbed her in the shoulder her with the pliers. A spray of blood was like a slap in the face and she closed her eyes. The sound of movement caused her to snap her eyes open again and she stared right at the woman.

"I'm looking," she said shakily and he stopped midway between her and the table.

He grabbed another tool, and another, and another. The screams were deafening, but the silence was even more so. The last sound Liana had made was a muted gargle, the sound of her choking on her own blood. Mika was covered in sprays of blood, and with each slap of the crimson liquid, breathing became harder. The sound of metal tearing flesh made her flinch and she had trouble holding down the urge to vomit.

When he seemed to have run out of tools, he pulled a scalpel out of his pocket. He opened Liana's blood-covered mouth and started cutting. To her horror, he cut out her tongue and held it in his hand, massaging it for a moment. Then, he brought it over to her and held it in front of her. She stared at it, then back at him, a mix of disgust and terror painted on her features.

He brought it even closer, but the smell of flesh and blood was the final straw. She lurched and threw up to her side, barely missing her arm. With a low groan, she heaved again but came up empty. He stood still and waited for the fits of heaving to pass. Then, when she looked up, he put a finger to his lips.

The prick of a needle, then darkness.

* * *

 **End chapter 2.**

 **Things are getting exciting! You'll notice that I will be straying from the Ripper's usual tendency to kill in 'sounders' of three. Also, although Mika did not see him remove any organs, except for the tongue, it does not mean he didn't take any.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

She spent the next morning trying to get a desperate grip on reality. After having woken up in her bathtub, she could not move for what seemed like an eternity. The thought that he could still be in the house was paralyzing. Only after the silence remained undisturbed for what seemed like hours did she venture out of the bathroom. Slowly and carefully, she checked every corner of the house for any signs of him, any indication that things had changed. Upon finding none, she finally took off her blood-stained clothes. They reeked of dried blood and the faint scent of vomit. When she looked in the mirror, she saw that her face was stiff from crying. She had not even noticed, and that thought bothered her at the back of her mind.

It took a while for her to figure out what she wanted to do. After hiding the bloodied clothes in the basement, and cleaning off the tub with bleach, she was left with a confused emptiness. Why was she still alive?

She spent the next few hours curled up on her couch, going over what happened and what she could draw from it. The Ripper, for whatever reason, had shown her how he worked. She could not figure out a reason for him to do so, other than as an intimidation tactic. However, it seemed like so much trouble. He would be much better off having simply killed her. The thoughts swirled over and over in her head, making no new conclusions and driving her keeper into despair. Her life was suddenly much more complicated.

The sound of a doorbell felt like a stab in the heart. Mika climbed out of her covers and messily ran her hands through her hair. Whoever this was, she hoped they would be quick. Taking several deep breaths, she approached the door and peeked through the eye-hole.

There were three men at the door. None of them were familiar and they all looked very serious. One of them held a badge to the door and in a booming voice, announced, "This is the FBI. Open up."

Her heart leapt to her throat. How did they know? A thousand worst-case scenarios flashed through her mind, but she stopped them in their tracks. They did not know; there was no way they could.

Slowly, she opened the door and poked her head out.

"FBI? Is something wrong?" she said quietly, her brow furrowing.

"Yes ma'am, may we come in?" said the one in front, who appeared to be the leader. He was an African American with greying hair.

She hesitated, but then opened the door and with a wry smile, gestured for them to come in. They filed in, one by one, slowly and walked toward the living room. The first one was fairly well dressed, with a long brown coat. The second man had short curly brown hair and his clothes were more disheveled. His posture was more hunched, and he did not meet her eyes as he came in. The third man was the tallest of the three and the most well dressed. His light brown hair was slicked back and he had a very stoic and stiff expression. She disliked having them in her house immediately.

"I am Jack Crawford, with the FBI. These are my associates, Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter," said the main man as he gestured to the disheveled man and he well dressed one. She nodded at them, noting that Will did not meet her gaze. Hannibal, on the other hand, greeted her with a stare so piercing she crossed her arms and looked away.

"How can I help you?" she asked, hoping her reluctance was not too evident.

"Where were you last night between the hours of eleven pm and three am?" Jack asked directly, his tone pointed, almost accusatory.

"At home," she said, her eyes narrowing. "What is this about?"

"We found your finger prints at a crime scene," Jack continued. The other two men seemed to be looking around her room. Will was still, but Hannibal was walking around and looking at the paintings on her wall. Part of her wanted to tell him to mind his own business, as she suspected that, given the high-profile nature of this murderer, they were profilers.

With a short sigh, she said, "I did not realize that trespassing was a federal crime."

Jack gave her a hard stare. "It's not, but murder is."

The surprise on her face was genuine, and she fired back defensively, "Are you accusing me of something?"

At this point, Hannibal turned to look at her and said, "No, we are just looking into a lead. What were you doing at the warehouse?"

His voice was deep and his tone was calm. She uncrossed her arms and shrugged. "I am afraid you are going to have to be more specific. Which warehouse?"

"The one down on Marner street, in the steel factory district," Hannibal continued.

Confusion flickered on her features. Why would the Ripper take here there? Just as quickly, she replaced the expression with contemplation.

"You've seen my record. I have a bad habit of trespassing. This was just another..." she trailed off before adding, "excursion."

Hannibal gave her a flat stare, but unless she was seeing things, she swore that there was the tiniest hint of amusement. It was as if he saw right through what she was saying. She disliked him more and turned away to look at Will, who was still standing in the same place as before.

"You do realize that you were on private property. The city police will be bringing up charges against you," Jack said, his tone as judgmental as before.

Mika nearly rolled her eyes. At this point, she was an expert on trespassing laws. She did, after all, have two charges previously, and countless other situations she had not gotten caught.

"I understand. Is that all?" she said, pursing her lips.

"Almost. Did you see anything suspicious while you were there?" Jack said.

She chuckled slightly. "It is an abandoned warehouse. You would be better asking if I saw something that was _not_ suspicious."

Jack stared at her wearily, but nonetheless, he said, "That's all for now. Here is my card in case you happen to remember anything else."

She accepted the card and nodded at him. Though, they both knew there were not getting anywhere with each other. The three men started heading to the door and she tried not to look too relieved.

"You have a lovely home," Hannibal said on his way out and she gave him a small smile. Will, however, still had not said a word and left silently. When she closed the door, she locked the deadbolt and leaned against it. Only when she heard the car pull away did she breathe a sigh of relief.

What a bothersome day.

* * *

While she was in the middle of replacing doorknobs on the second floor the next day, the sound of a doorbell ringing disturbed her. She did not need to walk down the stairs and look into the eye-piece to know that it was the FBI again. It was only a matter of time they came to question her again, considering how evasive she had been.

She opened the door expecting the three men, but instead, was met by only one. It was Hannibal Lecter, as finely dressed as before. Curious, she invited him in and with a thank you, he stepped inside. He seemed even taller today and his sharp eyes scanned the room, landing on her. He noticed the messy, paint-stained clothing she was wearing and raised a quizzical eyebrow.

Mika looked down at herself and chuckled before explaining, "I am doing some small repairs today."

However, she did not want to explain that she was actually making all the doorknobs in the house have locks. She was also installing a deadbolt in every room, in case the Ripper ever cornered her in her own home. After the events in the last few days, she was tired of staying away from home so much. She would fix it up, fortify it, so that she would never have to worry about him being inside her home again. That is, without her knowing it.

"Home improvement is a good use of time," he commented, his rich, calm voice feeling foreign and out of place. She was not used to such well-cultured visitors.

"May I ask why you are here?" she said a bit too shyly for her own comfort. There was something about him that made her want to be more polite. She did not like it.

He turned to look at her and gestured to the living room. "Perhaps we should sit down."

Upon seeing the alarm on her face, he added, "Don't worry, it's nothing serious. Jack sent me to ask you a few more questions."

She sat on one of the separate recliners and he sat opposite to her. He unbuttoned the bottom button on his suit and then looked up at her, the picture of elegance. Under different circumstances, she would revel at the idea of such a handsome man in her living room.

"I got the feeling that you were less than honest the other day," Hannibal said a bit sternly, and she grimaced.

Then, in a softer tone, he said, "Is there anything you would like to tell me?"

Just for a second, she faltered. She could tell him the truth, all of it. However, the Ripper had been very persuasive. She had no intention of putting herself in danger. After all, even if she came clean, the FBI could not really protect her from someone like him. Even if it took him a few years, he would find her and she knew that it would be over. So, she went along with her lie.

She started, fidgeting with her hands. "I actually do not know where I was," she continued with a wry smile. "I was really intoxicated and I do not remember what I did."

Hannibal was staring at her intently, and when she paused, he said, "I did not take you for the drinking type."

"I'm not," she said, but with a sigh, said, "I have been under a lot of stress lately. I was ready to try just about anything to get it off my mind."

Shaking her head, she looked him in the eyes and said, "As out of it as I was, I think I would have remembered seeing a body. So, I think I was at the warehouse sometime earlier in the evening."

"I threw up somewhere too, not sure where," she finished with a shrug. Unnerved by his stare, she added, "Sorry I couldn't be of more help."

Her cheeks burned a little and she realized that she was embarrassed. Even though it was a lie, she did not feel comfortable telling a stranger that she got blackout drunk and vomited in an abandoned warehouse.

"No, you have been very helpful," he said, the slightest smile tugging on the corner of his mouth. He did not seem like one to express much emotion so she was grateful for the gesture.

"If I might ask, what has been the source of your stress?" he said. Her eyes narrowed with distrust so he explained, "I am a psychiatrist. Call this professional curiosity."

That did not seem to help, and her posture became more stiff. After a small pause, she said slowly, "My house was broken into. To put it simply, I no longer feel completely comfortable inside my own home."

"Is that the reason for the repairs?" he asked and she nodded silently, avoiding his gaze.

"I apologize for prying. I will leave you to it," he said as he got up. She stood up as well, heading for the door. On his way out, he stopped and turned back to look at her. She could not get over how his sharp eyes seemed to look straight through her. Polite as ever, he bid her farewell and walked away.

* * *

 **End chapter 3.**

 **Thank you all for the follows, favourites and reviews! I'm having a lot of fun writing this, and I really hope you like it too. Now that Mika knows Hannibal, the next chapter is all about how he is slowly going to get closer to her.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Mika opened her mouth and carefully put on some red lip stick. Rolling it up and putting it back on the counter, she smacked her lips and then puckered them, making sure the lip stick looked fine from all angles. With that, she was done applying the last of her make-up. She looked into the mirror critically, turning and adjusting her hair.

This evening, she was attending the Annual Richeinder Symposium. It was held in honour of Michael Richeinder, the founder of the scientific institute she worked for. However, it also served as an event to thank the many donors of the institute for keeping it running. Many of the scientists would come to mingle with the donors and show them what they were paying for. In other words, it was a political charade.

She smiled stiffly at herself in the mirror. Every year, she was forced to dress up and attend this silly event. She hated the idea of it, that she had to go and look pretty for a bunch of wealthy fools. After all, she was a physicist for the beauty of science, and not the political babble it came attached to.

Her dark blue dress was long and she had a black shawl to cover her shoulders. This was the only time of the year she wore a dress. Her faithful office attire would not be accompanying her tonight, even though that was what she spent most of her time in. Doing one last check in the mirror, she grabbed her handbag and left her house. This was going to be a long night.

The drive there was uneventful, save for the wild urge to forgo attending. It was a cold November night, perfect for a moonlit stroll along the river. Alas, she would be spending her night surrounded by strangers and irritatingly bright lights.

When she got there, she was right on time. Shame, she had hoped traffic would be bad enough to make her late. With a deep breath, she headed for the main doors. After trading her invitation for a name tag, she was inside.

The place was milling with people, all lavishly dressed. Men wore slick black suits, while women sparkled in dresses of every colour and shade. From afar, perhaps this medley of people looked beautiful. However, within the crowd, it felt chaotic. Voices, laughter, lights.

Glancing at the seating chart, she found her name and weaved between the many white, circular tables to her assigned seat. The seating was arranged so that each scientist was nestled between a couple of donors. This way, they would be forced to commingle as the night went on.

She was about to pull out her chair to sit down when she heard someone call her name. She turned around, startled out of her thoughts. Her eyes widened and she froze when she saw none other than Hannibal Lecter standing in front of her. He was looking down at her with a veiled expression, and he was even more extravagantly dressed than before. His traditional black suit fit him perfectly and his hair was slicked back even more. Mika closed her mouth, but did not say anything. Seeing him here genuinely left her speechless.

"What a pleasant surprise to see you here," he said, those piercing eyes of his judging silently. She had a million negative retorts to that statement, all vaguely revolving around a sudden desire to disappear.

Instead, she forced herself to smile and said, "Indeed, it is a surprise."

Then, with the slightest narrowing of the eyes, she asked, "What brings you here?"

He nodded, having expected that question. "I am one of the donors."

She found it odd that he would donate to a scientific research institute, and that must have been all too evident on her face because he added, "I am a strong believer in the great benefits of research for our society."

Almost as an afterthought, he said, "I did not realize you worked for the Richeinder Institute."

"I am one of the physicists in the theoretical physics department. My team is working on applying recent breakthroughs in quantum mechanics to the study of the life-cycle of neutron stars," she said with a nod. This part was easier; she had rehearsed all of the common work-related questions. Either he was hiding it really well, or confusion was absent from his features. Usually, the donors' eyes would glaze over immediately.

"That sounds like fascinating, but challenging work," he said. She was about to agree and ask him about his work as a psychiatrist when a bell rang. It was a signal that the introductory speech was about to begin, and that all guests were to be seated. The tiniest sign of irritation flickered across his features, so faint that she thought she was reading too much into his otherwise still facial expression.

"Please excuse me. I hope we get a chance to speak more later," he said before finally turning his eyes away from her and walking away. She was extremely relieved that he was not going to be sitting at her table.

The remainder of the evening was as it always was. The wealthier, and often older, patrons flirted bashfully with the female scientists. Few were interested in learning about the research the institute did. She was listening to a stock market millionaire talk about his recent purchase of a golf course when, out of boredom, she looked away. A few tables away, she was startled to lock eyes with Hannibal. He did not look away, and there was no question that she was the object of his intense stare. She immediately averted her gaze, confused. The way he had looked at her made her feel uncomfortable somehow.

It was awfully puzzling, and she did not know what to make of the situation. He was with the FBI so she had behave in a way that would not arouse suspicion. At the same time, she was too shy to enjoy this attention, as insignificant as it seemed. As she had done a thousand times before, she reminded herself that this event would be over within a few hours. Then, she would never have to worry about seeing him again.

She turned her attention back to the millionaire by her side. Now, he was expressing his desire to golf on the ocean from his luxurious yacht. She wanted to sigh, but instead offered a soft smile. That seemed to be all he needed before he careened into expressing more extravagant desires. The next hour passed slowly, and even as dinner was served, she was surrounded by meaningless chatter. Her only comfort was the elegant food. It was very rare for her to eat something so fancy, as she preferred to keep to herself and not go out for meals.

Half an hour later, she was at the end of her rope. Whether it was the sudden stress from Hannibal's appearance, or the usual boredom, she felt restless earlier than last year. Trying to appear as graceful as possible, she excused herself from the table apologetically. Then, she scurried off in the direction of the bathrooms. She glanced back to make sure no one was watching her and then she made a sudden turn to the stairwell. With a sense of relief, she climbed up to the second floor and came up to a balcony that looked outside. It was darker here and she had a view of the many identical lamps lining the city streets.

Alone at last, she stretched her arms and took a deep breath. These few moments of isolation would be the highlight of the night. She learned against the railing and let the cold breeze surround her. It made her shiver and she pulled her shawl tighter around her. The cold was a welcome distraction.

When she heard the door open behind her, she turned around suddenly, eyes wide. She was alarmed to see that it was Hannibal.

"Getting some fresh air?" he asked as he stepped forward, face hard to read in the dark. She turned back to the railing and put on a calmer expression. After all, it would be suspicious if she looked too unhappy to see him.

"Yes, I needed a quick break," she confessed, tensing up when he came to stand beside her. For once, he was not looking at her, but at the night scene before him. His features were highlighted by shadows and she averted her gaze.

"I take it you do not like attending events like these," he said and she furrowed her brow. Was it that obvious?

Hesitating, she replied, "Are you saying that because you are a psychiatrist, or because it is that apparent?"

He looked down at her and paused before he said, "We all have things we must do that we dislike. You should not worry about hiding your feelings so much."

Irked that he did not answer her question, she looked away. Then, a bit defensively, she asked, "What are doing up here? I took you as someone who enjoys luxurious events."

The tiniest hint of amusement flashed in his eyes before he said, "There are a lot of wolves in sheep's clothing here tonight. A beautiful woman such as yourself would be the perfect prey. I wanted to make sure no wolves followed you."

Mika wanted to cover her face with her hands and walk away. She considered herself to be fairly dense, but it seemed like he was flirting with her, albeit in a strange way. She racked her brains for something to say that would politely tell him to back off.

"I do not like flattery," she said simply and abruptly. Then, to make the message clear, she added, "And I can take care of myself."

With one last look at his sharp eyes, she turned and left. He did not follow.

* * *

A week later, the event was long forgotten and Mika came home after a long day at work. She picked the mail up from the mail box and shuffled inside. Ever since she had finished changing the locks on the doors, adding locks to the windows and installing an alarm system, she felt much safer. She disabled the alarm on the way in and set her bag down. She made her way to the kitchen, dropping the small pile of letters on the counter.

When she was all changed and ready to start a relaxing evening, she came back to the kitchen for a snack. She leafed through the letters, expecting nothing but bills and notices. However, this time, there was an oddly elaborate envelope nestled in between.

She picked it up and examined it curiously. Her eyes narrowed when she saw that it was from Hannibal. She had no idea what he could possibly want from her, and why he would choose to contact her with a letter. After how sharp she had been with him at the symposium, she figured he would never want anything to do with someone so rude.

Cautiously, she opened the envelope with a pair of scissors and shook the paper inside out onto her counter. It was a small piece of parchment, with handwritten calligraphy on it.

 _Dear Ms. Aranuki,_

 _I would like to invite you to dinner at my home next week._

 _It occurred to me that I behaved rather disrespectfully_

 _at the symposium, and I would like to offer this dinner_

 _as an apology. Please consider this offer of a casual_

 _dinner on November 18_ _th_ _at 7:00pm. I can reschedule_

 _at your convenience._

 _Yours,_

 _Hannibal Lecter_

She read the letter over and over, becoming increasingly confused with each time. Nothing about this letter made any sense. It was unusual for him to invite her over to his home, especially after the way she had treated him. He was a psychiatrist so she was sure that he could read her distrust of him like a book. Then, he was apologizing for supposedly being disrespectful, which had not happened. He had been very civil; she was the one who had behaved defensively.

There was something off about this letter, as if it was a set-up. Perhaps there was still something else the FBI suspected of her. For all she knew, they thought she was the killer and this 'dinner' was a way for Hannibal to profile her and come to a better conclusion. She narrowed her eyes. Yes, that had to be it. That meant that she did not have a choice, and that this was no invitation. It was a summons.

Hannibal's phone number and address were written at the bottom of the letter, and she ran her hands though her hair as she stared at it. She checked her daily planner, not feeling very relieved that she was free that night.

It took her a while to gather her thoughts and figure out what she wanted to say. Hoping that she would be greeted by the answering machine, she dialed his number. She held her breath as the phone rang, and flinched when she heard him pick up the phone.

"Hannibal Lecter speaking," he said and that was when she realized how nervous she was.

"Hello," she said, her voice cracking. She awkwardly cleared her throat before hastily saying, "This is Mika Aranuki. I got your letter of invitation."

"I am glad to hear it. Have you made a decision?" he asked. She imagined he was amused by her obviously flustered state. Yet, she tried to sound civil as she replied, "Yes, I have. It would be an honour to attend."

"Excellent. May I ask if you have any dietary restrictions?" he asked and she blanked.

"Dietary restrictions?" she parroted, then quickly added, "No. I am not allergic to anything."

"Alright, then I will see you then. Have a fruitful week, Mika," he said and hung up. She was left with the phone in her hand, speechless. Her cheeks were burning up and she was terribly embarrassed. Normally, phone calls were not an issue for her. She groaned and wandered over to the living room to plop down on the couch. There was something about Hannibal that threw her off her game, making her edgy and discomposed. If she was this nervous during a phone call, she could not even imagine how the dinner would go. She buried herself in her pillows, hoping to forget all of it.

At least the Ripper had left her alone.

* * *

 **End chapter 4.**

 **Did Hannibal suddenly become a donor for Mika's work place? Maybe. And is the dinner a trap of some kind? Almost certainly.**

 **Thank you all for your reviews/follows/favourites! I'm really happy to see there are so many fans of Hannibal!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

On a day like any other, Mika was heading out of her office to go home. Her shelves were cluttered with books, most relating in one way or another to theoretical physics. She also had dozens of notebooks, each one filled cover to cover with notes, ideas and sketches. Writing ideas in notebooks was one of her favourite things about her job. She was quite literally paid to think.

She had a large desk straddling the room, with neat piles of current projects. One of her walls was free of shelves, instead lined with blackboards. There was something pleasantly traditional about fleshing out ideas with chalk. The far wall had an enormous window with a large ledge. On hot summer evenings, she would sit on it and watch the sunset.

After turning off the light and closing her door, she walked down the familiar hallway on the second floor of the physics department wing. Since it was so late, all of the other offices were already closed. She was friends, or at least acquainted with, most of the people on the floor. These same friends had also been teasing her ever since the symposium. They insisted on asking her about that tall, handsome man that had gone out of his way to talk to her. She had conveniently neglected to tell them that she was meeting that same man for dinner tomorrow. She would never hear the end of it.

She opened the door to the staircase and took one step in when she felt it.

Fear.

The feeling was so strong and so sudden that she could not even think. From the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow; a shadow with a _shine_. The kind of shine one would see from transparent plastic under the light. She moved on instinct, turning around and bolting down the hallway. The clutter of footsteps behind her warned her that _he_ was after her. She ran as fast as her legs could carry her and within seconds, she was at the other end of the wing, at the next stairwell. She gripped the doorknob, but it would not turn.

Cold terror gripped her spine and for a second, she was frozen. She turned and she saw him running at her, clad in black and that strange plastic suit. It was as if things were in slow motion. She turned and sprinted down the next hallway. This time, she did not stop at the stairwell, suspecting it was locked. Instead, she completed the circle, back to the hallway with her office. She took her keys out of her pocket and her knuckles turned white from holding them. If she was going to get out, she had one chance.

It was silent, and she hated it. He could be in any doorway and behind any turn. She could barely hear anything above the sound of her own beating heart. A desire to survive drove her forward, and she felt like she was on fire with adrenaline.

She crept to the next corner and looked down the hallway. It was empty. Her office was halfway down the hall, and that was where she intended to go. If she managed to get herself in there, she would be safe.

One chance, that was all she needed. She knew that if she continued to move slowly, he would get her. She had to do this quickly. Her muscles were taught, and she felt like she was about to jump off a plane without a parachute.

In a flurry of movement, she dashed down the hall and to her door. She jammed the key in the hole and as she twisted the knob, she heard him nearby. She flung herself inside and turned to slam the door. However, it was too late. He pushed against the door and she did not even try to close it. They both knew who the stronger one was.

She backed up behind the desk, her breathing ragged. He stood tall at her doorway, and the sight of him alone wanted to make her faint. Their eyes locked and she felt so small, so insignificant. So weak.

"I'm sorry. I don't feel like dying today," she said, her voice low. Then, in one fluid movement, she turned around and flung her window open. He realized what she wanted to do and he lurched forward to grab her, but she was too quick. With one push, she stepped up on the windowsill and jumped.

She hit the bushes below hard. The breath was knocked out of her and she bounced off them, slamming into the grass like a rag doll. The world was spinning and she was shaking when she moved. She looked up and she saw him staring out at her from her office. Then, he turned and vanished.

Fear stabbed through her anew. He could still get her. With strength she did not know she had, she picked herself up off the ground and stood. Luckily, her legs were uninjured and she was too afraid to care about any other pains. Out of breath, but terrified out of her mind, she ran along the side of the adjacent building. She ran for a long time, ducking into the park nearby to get her to downtown. She never looked back and just ran, each breath becoming increasingly painful.

That night, she slept at the woman's shelter in downtown. The women there were very gracious, offering her bandages for her cuts and bruises. She found it morbidly convenient that her injuries looked like that of someone in an abusive relationship. The women were kind, and did not ask about her or her living situation.

When she closed her eyes, the sight of the Ripper running toward her danced in front of her eyelids like a twisted reminder of what had almost happened. It was little comfort to know that she was safe tonight. He was still after her.

* * *

The next day, when she found herself standing at Hannibal's door, she felt hopeless. The night was bound to be a disaster. It could even put her in prison. Her head hurt from all the worrying, and her body ached from the fall. She was in no condition to convince anyone of anything, let-alone a psychiatrist that she was not a murderer.

That morning, she had nearly had a panic attack when she read the newspaper headlines. Shortly after the Ripper had chased her, there had been another murder. This time, an Asian man, a pilot mechanic, was found with his arms and legs switched places. His head had been severed and reattached at his arse. Then, the Ripper strung him up, with tools in his hands, to the underside of an air plane.

She wanted to throw up, or cry. Either way, she felt emotionally drained, and she knew Hannibal would be quick to pick up on that. The problem was that she was covered in scratches and bruises. It was too much of a coincidence that she was hurt, and another Ripper victim was displayed. In the worst case, she would be taken in to explain that she did not get those injuries by killing someone. If she were to lie, that would only arouse more suspicion. The truth was no better and she had no intention of revealing her little connection to the Ripper.

Taking a deep breath, she rang the doorbell. Her host was there in a few seconds, and he swung his large oak door open for her. He greeted her with a smile and offered to take her coat. She slipped out of her comfortable jacket, leaving her in a black cardigan.

"Please, come this way," he said as he gestured her down the hall. She could tell that his gaze lingered at her head and hands.

As she walked through his home, it donned on her how wealthy he was. In all of her worry, she had failed to notice how large and extravagant his house was from the outside. No details were spared, and each room held all sorts of strange antiques and collectibles. Part of her wanted to stop and snoop.

He led her into the dining area, where an enormous table adorned with a large centrepiece dominated the room. The details eluded her, though, as she was focused on the seating arrangement. At the end of the table, there was a setting for two; they would be facing each other. She would have to deal with a night of staring.

He pulled up a chair for her, and she smiled as she sat down. The bruise on her lower ribs caused her some discomfort as she did so, and there was the tiniest hitch in her breathing. Of course, being as observant as he was, he noticed it.

"Our dinner will be done baking in a few minutes. I am glad you could make it," he said as he settled down across from her. He was staring quite intently at her forehead, and she realized that no matter how much makeup she had used, he could still see the bruise it concealed. Her hands were wrapped in bandages, and under her clothes, so were her ribs. Her thigh was also a bit bruised, but her shoulders had taken the brunt of the fall.

"Thank you for having me," she replied softly, avoiding his gaze. He opened his mouth, but then closed it, as if hesitating to say something. She looked at him curiously, and he said, "This may not be any of my business, but I want to ask where you got those injuries."

"It's nothing serious. I was jogging and I tripped and fell from some height," she said with a wry smile. She made sure to meet his stare as she said it, and she kept her voice even.

"I am terribly embarrassed about it, actually," she added with a chuckle. His expression became more serious, and she looked down. If she was not mistaken, she had read disappointment on his stiff face.

"You are an excellent liar," he said at last, causing her head to snap up.

"However, I used to be a surgeon, and I know that your injuries were not caused by what you say they were," he continued with a sigh. It was definitely disappointment. She narrowed her eyes at him. Here he was, calling her out for lying, when he himself had unclear motives for this dinner in the first place.

"Fine. I will make you a deal. A truth for a truth. I do not think you were entirely honest about your intention of inviting me here," she said. At the very least, she could try to get some information out of him. His expression changed, and amusement twinkled in his eyes.

After a moment, he said, "That sounds fair."

She gestured for him to start and he opened his mouth when the oven buzzer went off. Hannibal narrowed his eyes, but she smiled. With the tiniest sigh, he stood up and excused himself. She sighed in relief and wrung her hands. So far, so good. Alone, she got the opportunity to ogle the room. A pair of tusks were on hanging on one of the walls and she started at them pensively. They looked real, and very expensive. There were many other ornaments, most of which were made of plant or animal remains. She found it a bit morbid.

A few minutes later, he came back into the room with a pair of wide, ornamented plates. He walked behind her and set one down in front of her, leaning behind her. She tensed when he said right by her ear, "Tonight, I made filet mignon, with a cheese souffle."

He stepped back and to his own seat, placing down his plate. "I thought you might like something less on the fancy side."

Mika furrowed her brow. The dish he had described sounded very fancy, so the comment seemed like a veiled judgement of some kind.

Nonetheless, she said, "I appreciate it."

Hannibal picked up a bottle of wine from an icy bowl between them and opened it. He stood to pour her some, but she raised her hand to cover her glass.

"I hope you don't mind, but I have been trying to avoid alcohol," she said with a shy smile. After what she had told him about getting blackout drunk a few weeks ago, that seemed believable enough. In truth, she had an allergy to alcohol. One beer and she was ready to pass out. It was a biological mishap she was rather thankful for, as she had to abstain from all alcohol. It made her life simpler; no drunken mistakes.

He paused, and she could tell he was surprised. However, he didn't skip a beat, and he grabbed a bottle of tonic water from the same bowl. He poured her some and she thanked him.

She carefully picked up the silverware with her bandaged hands. It was uncomfortable to hold them, but the discomfort would keep her focused. She looked at him gingerly, then made an attempt to cut the steak before her. It was clumsy, and there was no pretending that she was ever taught how to use cutlery properly. He pursed his lips slightly; there was that disappointment again.

As she brought the food up to her lips, she said, "I believe you were about to tell me something."

The first bite was like heaven. She had never had meat like this. As she tried to hide her happiness with the food, she nearly missed what Hannibal said next.

"I invited you here because I find that I am interested in you," he said, almost causing her to choke on her half-chewed mouthful. She gave him a quizzical stare, and he returned it with a look that implied he wanted her to say something.

Putting her knife and fork down, she said flatly, "I jumped out of a second floor window. These injuries are from the fall."

He looked much more curious now, fixing his gaze on her. He deftly cut into his steak as he said, "That is not the whole story, though."

She was not satisfied with his previous answer, and her gut told her that there was still more to his motives than what he said. Considering how rude she had been, it did not make sense that he would be interested in her. She shrugged and retorted, "A half truth for a half truth."

He narrowed his eyes and said in a lower tone, "It is rude to accuse someone of lying."

"I'll try not to make a habit of it," she fired back, not missing a beat, as she put another piece of meat in her mouth. He bristled at her words and sat back in his chair. In a stiff monotone, he asked, "Where were you last night."

She let out a short sigh, flinching when her bruised ribs pulsed with pain. Then, in an equal monotone, she replied, "I was at home."

"You are lying again," he said, his tone condescending.

Looking him in the eyes, she shook her head. "So what if I am? I have no reason to bare my soul to you."

She thought he was going to retort sharply, but instead, he put down his fork and stared at her intensely. There was something different about this stare, as if it were more penetrating. She squirmed under his gaze, prodding the souffle awkwardly.

"You have no reason to trust me," he said, his voice softer. "However, I want you to consider it. As strange as it seems, I want to help you."

Mika furrowed her brow. That was not the answer she had been expecting. Still confused, she whispered, "Why?"

"You are afraid and alone. I saw that on the first day we met," he said, but it was not what she was asking about so she said, "But why would you want to help? Why not look the other way?"

A flicker of indiscernible emotion crossed his face, and he replied in a lighter tone, "I was curious."

There it was: the root cause of all this. The invitation, the pervasive questions, the staring, all due to a curiosity. It seems to good doctor was too curious for his own good. Mika smiled, her first true smile in days.

She raised her glass of water and said, "To curiosity."

Hannibal lifted up his wine glass and nodded, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. That was the day she became friends with Hannibal Lecter.

* * *

 **End Chapter 5.**

 **Since curiosity is one of Hannibal's key driving motives, he's revealed some of his hand by telling her that he was curious. However, he's also probably quite annoyed that she managed to escape him. And yes, the "steak" he served for dinner is from the pilot he dismembered the previous night.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Mika was out of breath when she got to her car on a cold, early December night. She wiped the sweat off her brow with her sleeve and stretched a bit. Every so often, she would go jogging at night. There was something so energizing about running in the dark. Recently, she had been sticking only to more public, well-lit paths, courtesy of the Ripper.

She dug her keys out of her pockets and unlocked her car. She took a good look around the parking lot, scanning for any sign of movement. Then, she looked inside and around her car, making sure nothing had been tampered with. Satisfied with her check, she climbed into her driver's seat and put the key in the ignition.

She turned the key, but the car made a pitiful gargling sound. Her eyes narrowed and she tried again, shaking her head when the sound was repeated. She could feel her heart rate increasing, and she promptly climbed out of the car to check under the hood. Though she did not know much about cars, it was worth a try to take a look.

There was no sound of footsteps, no rustling of clothing. Yet, in an instant, she felt herself being grabbed from behind. Hands wrapped around her neck and squeezed. She grabbed the hands and pulled, but his grip was like stone. She writhed against him, but he would not budge.

Knowing she only had a few seconds of consciousness left, she reached behind her back and pulled out a switchblade. Ever since this whole Ripper fiasco had started, she always made sure she had a weapon of some kind on her. However, she had never hoped she would be forced to use it.

With a sneer, she swung the blade into place and stabbed him in the leg. She drove the blade in as deep as it would go, but his grip did not loosen. He did not even make a sound. The strength was quickly leaving her body and she dropped the knife. Her last thought before the darkness overwhelmed her was steeped in cold terror. _This man was the Devil._

* * *

When she woke up tied to a chair in the dark, she wanted to cry. She could not go through something like this again. Her throat hurt and she tugged weakly at her binds. After all her precaution, she was still here. She felt so weak and her chest ached at the thought that he could kill her for all this resistance.

The lights suddenly came on and she flinched. As before, there was a large table in front of her, with a large, lumpy object covered with a sheet. In a sick, twisted way, she felt relieved. Maybe he would kill whoever was under the sheet instead of her. That idea made her chest ache even more; it felt like something inside of her was dying. Perhaps it was her humanity.

She heard faint footsteps coming her way and her whole body tensed up. When he came to stand in front of her, clad in the same black and plastic outfit, she noticed that he had the slightest limp. It made her feel a bit bolder. He could be hurt, and at the very least, she could be comforted by the fact that he was human.

He was holding her switchblade in his gloved hand and she glanced nervously between it and him. The blade was clean and he leaned closer, resting his free arm against the back of the chair. Vainly, she pressed herself as far back into the chair as possible, wishing she could go straight through it. He rested the tip of the blade on her thigh and her eyes widened when she realized what he was going to do. He was going to stab her in the same place she had stabbed him.

"Wait! There will be evidence," she said, stopping abruptly when he pressed the knife a bit harder onto her skin. He paused and tilted his head to the side, allowing her to continue.

"You want me to keep quiet, but how can I do that if my blood is all over the crime scene?" she pleaded. He stared at her blankly, or so she thought. Because of his mask, she did not even know what colour his eyes were. Then, he ran his hand along the side of the chair, making the irritating sound of plastic rubbing against plastic. Her eyebrows rose in surprise when she saw that the entire chair was covered with plastic, as was the area around her feet.

Having answered her question, he pressed the blade against her leg again. Desperate to make him change his mind, she blurted, "This isn't an eye for an eye unless I get to strangle you too."

He looked at her again, and she imagined he was smirking under the mask. To her horror, he leaned closer, so that their noses were almost touching. Then, he stabbed her. When she felt the knife enter her leg, she jerked her head to the side, but he grabbed her head with his free hand and pressed it against the back of the chair. He was still looming over her, watching her pained expression closely.

From the bottom of her eyes, she could see that the blade was barely in. He started applying pressure again and she cried out, her voice catching when the pain intensified. She shook her head, whimpering.

Then, in one last push, he shoved the dagger through until she felt it hit bone. She was shaking, tears forming in the corner of her eyes. Mika closed her eyes and turned away, tears going down her face.

"Please stop," she whispered, her voice shaky. She moaned when he pulled the blade out. Clenching her teeth, she let the pain wash over her. This wasn't as bad as the time she had sprained her ankle, or so she told herself. This was okay. With that thought, she managed to slow down her breathing. The entire time, he stood in front of her, watching her carefully.

When she stopped shaking, he stepped back and put the blade away. Then, as if nothing had happened, he removed the cover from the table. Underneath was a white man in a suit. The Ripper picked up a scalpel and then turned to look at her.

She blinked the tears away and after squinting at the man, she said, "What did this one do?"

Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. Swallowing hurt, as did any other movement that even remotely effected her leg. Blood was slowly trickling down her thigh, but she was thankful he had not punctured an artery.

He walked over to her with a business card and she stared at it intently.

 _John Marshall  
_ _Accountant_

Mika sighed and whispered, "Let me guess. He was your accountant once and swindled you out of a couple of dollars."

Not looking at him, she spat, "What a petty reason to kill someone."

As expected, he grabbed her head and forced her to look at him. She stared up at him defiantly, and she knew she was right. The Ripper was a psychopath, requiring little motive to end someone's life.

After a few moments of silence, he let go of her head and went back to the table. She watched with morbid curiosity as he unbuttoned the man's shirt, leaving his stomach exposed. Mika noticed that this victim was restrained, his wrists and ankles bound with shackles.

The Ripper walked over to the head of the man and gave him a rough smack. The man groaned and squirmed in his restraints.

"Hey, John," she said, watching the murderer's movements closely.

"What, what the hell is this?" he groaned groggily and struggled even more. The chains rattled, and she watched the man slowly become consumed by panic.

"Listen carefully John, you are about to die," she said and his head snapped in her direction.

"What!? Who the hell are you?" he yelled, angry eyes locking with hers. When he saw her tear-stained face, and her tied arms, he looked even more confused. Then, he looked up and his eyes widened when he saw the Ripper.

"What is this?" he whispered, his terrified eyes darting between her and the Ripper, who stood still, allowing the exchange to continue.

"That man is the Chesapeake Ripper. I don't know what you did to offend him, but he wants you dead. I'm sorry," Mika said, her voice dropping at the end. The man clearly realized the murderer's nickname, because he started sputtering his name.

"John, listen to me," she said firmly, trying to get him to snap out of it. "Is there anyone you want to say goodbye to?"

She stared at the Ripper intently, looking for any sign that he would gag the man, or attack her. He continued to stand still, and she was thankful for that.

"I-" the man started, but then, in one slice, the Ripper cut his voice box. In surprise, Mika screamed, "No!"

A horrible gargle came out of the man's mouth, and he sputtered blood. She stared at the Ripper in disbelief.

"How could you do that? You didn't even let him say his last words!" she yelled, her weak position completely forgotten. When he stepped toward her menacingly, she drew a sharp breath and looked away.

Then, the Ripper began his gruesome work. He cut the man's abdomen open, and dug out his kidney. Knowing his response to looking away, she watched with a grimace. It was repulsing how easily the man could tear into another human being. The main goal seemed to be the intestines because the Ripper quickly got to work on pulling them out. The sound John made when he saw his own intestines was one she would never forget.

Soon after that, John went quiet, though she was not sure whether he had fainted or passed away. The Ripper was unfazed and continued to tug at the intestines. When he had them all out, he grabbed a big bowl. She thought he was going to put them inside, but instead, he showed her that the bowl was filled with money.

As he began wrapping each bill around the intestines, she started feeling sick. The smell of blood was nauseating, as was having to watch the Ripper staple money to the man's organs.

He was meticulous, and he made sure every inch of intestine was covered. It took hours of work, and they became a blur in her mind. Every time she would get tired and look down, he would walk over and lift her head up. His hands smelled even worse and it took her all of her strength not to throw up. He even noticed when her eyes seemed to glaze over, because he would walk over and bring his hand closer to her face. Each time, she would flinch and hold her breath.

When he got to the end of the long organ, he paused. She felt relieved, but in a hollow sort of way. It was twisted to be glad about something as gruesome as this. The Ripper then got a long rope and wove it together with the intestines. Then, he climbed up a small stepladder and hung the rope from a beam at the ceiling.

Mika watched in horror and anticipation as he wrapped the intestines around the man's neck, much like a noose, and then pulled him up to hang. It was a haunting sight, and when he swayed from side to side, she felt even more sick. This was death, hanging before her.

He left the room after that, and for a paranoid moment, she wondered if he would ever return. Would he really leave her here? What if no one found her and she starved to death? Perhaps that was his plan all along, to give her a slow and painful death for causing him so much trouble. She could live out her last days staring death in the face.

She found herself sighing in relief when he came back. He stood in front of her and she noticed that his gloved hands were clean. Her eyes followed his movements wearily, but she suddenly became tense when he took out her switchblade. He slowly brought the blade back to her thigh and she shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes again. He paused and stared at her. Then, he brought his hand up to her face and wiped away the tears. All she could do was stare back at him with wide eyes.

The Ripper pulled up a stool and sat down beside her. He carefully cut away the cloth around her wound, revealing the bloody mess that was her thigh. Then, with practiced care, he disinfected the cut. When he took out a needle and some string, she realized that he was going to stitch her up. His movements were quick, but careful, leaving her convinced that he was a doctor or a surgeon.

She grit her teeth as he put the needle through her skin. He expertly closed the wound and then bandaged it. The pain was numbed by her disbelief. This killer was leaving her more and more confused.

When he was done, she whispered, "Thank you."

He made no movement to acknowledge what she said, and promptly packed up his medical kit. Alone again, she stared at the mangled body hanging from the ceiling. She could not understand how a person could do something so vile one minute, and then seemingly kind the next.

The next time he came back, he immediately started untying her binds. She did not say anything, but she was weary. Perhaps he wanted to strangle her again, and the best way to do that was by untying her.

When he was done, he extended his hand out to her. Mika looked at him for a moment, then nervously took it. Standing up was painful, and she could feel blood oozing between the stitches. She leaned heavily on his arm at first, but then adjusted to limping. He slowly led her to the door of the warehouse they were in and opened it. The Ripper helped her outside, where it was the middle of the night. He walked with her until the sidewalk, and then he pointed down the street. Far away, she could see a traffic light and other signs of civilization. Certain that she understood, he let go of her and walked back inside the warehouse. She watched him walk away and shut the door with wide eyes. He was letting her go.

Once the initial shock subsided, she started limping in the direction of the lights. Based on what was around her, she was on the outskirts of town, and it would take hours to get back home. She hobbled along quietly in the cold. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

 **End chapter 6.**

 **As a fun side note, the accountant Hannibal killed in this chapter had tried to convince him to invest into a fraudulent company.**

 **Let me know what you think! Happy to get comments/suggestions.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

A week later, Mika was settled in a pile of blankets and books in the living room when the doorbell rang. She groaned and put her pen down. It was rather late in the evening and she was not expecting any company. Considering how much trouble it was for her to move around, she was not happy about having to climb out of her cozy nest.

She threw her head back and yelled, "Who is it?"

Depending on the answer, she was perfectly prepared to ignore the call.

"It's Hannibal," came a muffled reply and she sighed. Looks like she was going to be getting up after all. With a huff, she threw her blankets off and hobbled up. Then, she limped over to the door.

Before she opened it, she looked at the mess that was her living room. Due to her injury, she found it too troublesome to walk up and down stairs, so she had moved all her basic necessities to the living room. She slept, ate, and worked on the couch, making it so that she did not have to move around much each day.

Since cooking required standing up and moving about, she had been ordering large amounts of takeout. Containers from several nearby restaurants lay scattered across the room. The ones from a week ago were still there, rotting silently. She did not mind the smell, but she worried about what Hannibal would say once he stepped inside. Grimacing, she turned back to the door. If he did not think she was a filthy slob before, he definitely would now.

Putting on a cheery smile, she opened the door a crack. She was surprised to see that he was holding a large picnic container. Part of her cursed. Now she had to invite him in and watch as he recoiled in horror.

"What brings you here?" she asked, grin still in place. He looked at her quizzically, then gestured to the picnic box, and said, "Since you could not come over to dinner today, I thought I would bring dinner to you."

It was a kind gesture, but as always, she was weary of his intentions. Chances were he came over to ask more personal questions to satisfy his curiosity. Still, she could not turn him away, considering she was eager to eat something other than take-out.

"That's really sweet. Please come in," she said and hobbled aside to open the door. His eyes immediately darted to the piles in the living room and she hastily gestured for him to go to the kitchen. Being too preoccupied with her embarrassment, she did not notice that he had the slightest limp as he came in. She slowly eased into a high chair at the kitchen island, and he sat across from her.

"I apologize for the mess. Cleaning has a bit of a low priority right now," she said sheepishly and avoided his gaze.

"I take it you have been at home all week," he said calmly, but she could tell he was disgusted by her living quarters by the way his nostrils flared ever so slightly.

"Yes. I had some sick days saved up from last year and I put them into this week," she replied. Even though she was on sick leave, she was still working. Being at home let her catch up on the more menial tasks of her position, such as reviewing papers and writing reference letters. She also helped edit the work of several people she worked with.

"How is your leg?" he asked and stared intently at her. When she had called to cancel dinner plans with him earlier that week, she had told him that her leg was sprained.

She shrugged and said with a wry smile, "It's getting better every day, but slowly."

It was the truth. The troublesome stab wound looked alright on the surface, but since it was so deep, it continued to ache. Most of the bleeding had stopped, though walking was really painful. So, she had been hopping around on one foot this entire time. In retrospect, she had no idea how she had managed to walk back from the warehouse a week ago.

His attentive gaze shifted to her thigh and he said, "I could take a look at it for you, to make sure it is healing properly."

Before she had replied, he stood up and started walking over to her, rolling up his sleeves. Her eyes widened and she extended her hands in front of her.

"No, no, I assure you, I am fine," she said, staring up at him. He was right in front of her, and she internally cursed at how weak she looked holding her hands out in front of her like that. He looked at her startled expression and paused.

"You do not like being touched," he said slowly and she snorted. With a dry chuckle, she said, "I most certainly do not."

Amusement twinkled in his eyes, and he said, "What if I insist?"

She could tell he was joking, but she did not like it. Taking this as a chance to stand up for herself, she said in a lower tone, "You will not be insisting on anything in myhome."

They stared at each other, tension rising in the room. Finally, Hannibal replied with a sly smile, "Then I will have to wait until we are at mine."

At this point, she was not sure what they were implying they were insisting on, so she looked away in confusion. Slowly, she sat down again, as did he. Then, as if nothing had happened, he started opening his picnic basket and explaining what was inside. He took out a full set of silverware, and quickly set the table in front of them. He used several French words to describe the meal he was serving, but it went over her head.

When he took out two wine glasses, she watched him wearily, ready to interrupt him from pouring her any alcohol if need be. He picked up on her caution and said, "Don't worry, this is cherry juice. I think it will go well with the braised pork."

Mika peered at the extravagant meal before her, then at the man serving it. Her curiosity got the best of her and she asked, "Why would you go through all of this trouble for me?"

He looked up from his plate and gave her another one of his uncomfortable piercing stares. His face was blank as he said, "I was curious to see how you were doing,"

She narrowed her eyes, not quite satisfied with his answer. He added, "Also, I suspected you lied about the nature of your injury."

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he continued, "And it seems I was correct to suspect that. You have a stab wound, not a sprain."

Mika leaned back in her chair and threw up her arms. "You've got me."

"Of course, you realize that I want to know how it happened," he said as he cut away a piece of his pork and put it in his mouth.

She pursed her lips and poked at the steamed vegetables. Then, she said quietly, "You've brought me dinner so the least I can do is be honest with you. I got stabbed in a fight."

He looked interested so she continued, "I can't tell you where I got it, or from whom."

Hannibal went back to looking at his food and for a few minutes, they ate in silence. Then, he asked, "Do you think your leg will be healed in time for Christmas?"

She furrowed her brow at the specificity of the question, but replied, "I hope so. Why?"

"I am holding a dinner party. I would like you to attend," he said frankly. She did not bother hiding her reluctance and he continued, "I realize you do not like those kinds of events, but it would mean a lot for me if you could come."

She cast him a confused look, then sighed. As politely as she could, she said, "You and I are from different circles. I do not fit in with you and your high-class friends."

He did not like her answer, because he frowned. Firmly, he retorted, "I think we have more similarities than differences."

Mika went silent and looked away. It was a loaded statement, and one she did not know how to make sense of. From what she could tell, they were complete opposites. He enjoyed the finer things in life, while she preferred to keep things simple. He was elegant and sociable, while she was plain and shy. They were like day and night. Unless he was talking about something else.

Narrowing her eyes, she pointed an accusatory finger at him and said, "Look, if you want us to be able to communicate, you are going to have to cut down on all these riddles."

He hesitated, but then drew a breath and explained, "We are the result of circumstance. I believe that if we were in similar situations, we would act the same way."

Their eyes met, and for once, she held his gaze. She stared into his deep brown eyes and she felt something strange. It felt like deja vu, as if they had locked their eyes like this before. Confused, she looked away and put her hand to her temple. It felt like she had a headache coming on.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, and she nodded.

"Just a headache," she said with a small smile before digging into her meat. His eyes lingered on her for a moment before he too, continued to eat.

The silence only lasted a few minutes before he broke it with a personal question. From there, their conversation was like a waterfall. They talked for hours, about everything from their past, to their goals and the future. For each personal question he asked her, she asked one in return. It was like a challenge, a game of questions where the winner was the one who got the most personal answer.

Of course, she suspected that every other answer he gave her was a lie. It was in the tiniest curl of his lips, and the faintest flicker in his eyes. Still, she let it slide, just to keep playing. Her answers were not always entirely honest either, and she knew that he knew that. So they lied, and lied, and lied. It was the most fun either of them had had in months.

* * *

On December 23rd, Mika woke up earlier than she would have liked. All she wanted to do was curl up and keep sleeping, but she was too nervous. This evening, Hannibal would be holding his dinner party and she was not looking forward to it. Though he had repeatedly assured her that she would get along alright with everyone, she still felt like an outsider.

She had to be sure she played her part well; the part of a sophisticated and intelligent scientist. She climbed out of her bed and stumbled to the bathroom. Her limp had subsided considerably, but to the sharp eye, it was still noticeable. She hoped no one would ask about it, because she would be forced to lie. After all, well-cultured people did not get into knife fights.

Her clothes were already picked out and she glared at the black dress she was going to wear. She would feel even more vulnerable in the thing, even though it did not show too much skin. For an event this emotionally involved, she would have preferred to wear some kevlar.

Cleaned up, she wandered downstairs to fix herself some breakfast. As she walked past the front door, out of habit, she peeked through the eye hole. To her surprise, there was a green box with a red ribbon on it. She narrowed her eyes at it and hesitated before opening the door. She had already exchanged presents with her friends and she was not expecting any more.

As she had guessed, there was no address on the box. Her mood turned sour. The last time a box showed at her door, she had found a human tongue. She stared at it for a long time, letting the cold winter air into her home. Finally, she shivered and took it inside.

She set it down on her counter and groaned. She did not need another human organ to have to dispose of. Tugging at her hair, she paced back and forth in front of it. She could just throw it away, not even bothering to open it. However, she knew that was not an option. Her curiosity was too strong. With a wry smile, she remembered that curiosity was something she and Hannibal shared.

Pursing her lips, she pulled the ribbon, undoing the elaborate bow. From a distance, she reached out and lifted the lid. When nothing jumped out at her, she came a bit closer. There was something wrapped in golden wrapping paper and she frowned. To open it, she would have to touch it. She steeled her mind to be prepared that she was about to touch something fleshy and disgusting.

She held her breath as she picked up the object and gingerly tore away the wrapping paper. Whatever it was, it felt hard. When she opened it, her eyes widened.

It was a knife. The hilt was black and made of wood, while the blade itself was white and very sharp. She admired the handiwork carefully, but she did not have to be a doctor to know what she was holding. The blade was made out of human bone.

She felt conflicted. The knife was beautiful, and exactly what she needed. After her last encounter with the Ripper, she never did get her switchblade back. However, the thought that some innocent person had died for this to come into her hands made her a bit ill.

Mika gripped the weapon in her hand tightly and she knew what she had to do. She would keep the knife, take it everywhere with her. Then, the next time the Ripper attacked her, she would stab him with it. She smirked and twirled the blade in the air. Now that would be justice.

 **End chapter 7. Hannibal is hosting a dinner party! No doubt, with lovely 'choice' ingredients. Meanwhile, at the FBI, the detectives were having quite the time trying to figure out why someone was missing several organs, as well as their hip bone. Who would remove a hip bone? Perhaps a man keen on making a knife out of human bone ;)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Laughter, voices, the smell of food. Mika tensed as she approached Hannibal Lecter's front door. She looked exactly like one of _them_. Her hair was done up and curled, and she wore a healthy amount of make-up. Her nails were painted a skin tone and her black dress fit her perfectly. Her face was blank and calm, but on the inside, she was slowly tearing herself in half.

She was pretending to be someone she was not, and although part of her loved the illusion, the other part felt sick from the weight of the make-up on her face, and the tightness of the dress. Still, after an hour of meditation beforehand, she had assured herself that she could wear this mask for one night.

She raised her hand to ring the doorbell when the door swung open. Hannibal stood at the door, clad in a black suit and tie, with an unusually large smile on his face. He seemed to be truly enjoying this cacophony of people.

"Please, come in. I am happy you could make it," he said and stepped aside. His eyes followed her carefully on her way in and as she walked past him, he whispered, "You look beautiful."

Half turning, she whispered back, "You know how I feel about flattery."

He led her to his living room, where dozens of people were milling about. They all looked terribly exquisite, their movements elegant and their faces like porcelain masks. What was she getting herself into?

"I would like to introduce you to an old acquaintance of mine," he said as he weaved through the crowd. When people saw him, they smiled and offered their greetings. It was clear that he was well-liked.

He stopped in the middle of the room, where a tall, black-haired woman with pale white skin stood in a dazzling red dress. She wore red lip stick and her glossy black hair was draped over her shoulder in curls. Mika could not help but admire her beauty.

"Mika, this is Lydia," he said and the beautiful woman turned to look at them. Her eyes first went to Hannibal, and they twinkled with passion. Then, when they landed on Mika, they became surprisingly sharp. In her head, Mika face-palmed. From one look, she could tell that the woman had some intentions toward Hannibal, and that she did not seem kind to outsiders. Meanwhile, Hannibal introduced Mika to Lydia, and they shook hands. Her grip was firm, and her thin but elegant hand was strong.

"It is a pleasure to meet you. Hannibal has told me a lot about you," Lydia said, her soft red lips curving up to a smile. Mika's eyes darted to Hannibal, who gave her a reassuring nod.

"All good I hope," she replied slowly, her voice lower than usual. Her hope was that if she talked slowly, it would give the appearance of sophistication. Mika tensed, her calm facade almost slipping, when she felt Hannibal's hand on her lower back. She looked up at him, narrowing her eyes ever so slightly. He smiled again and said, "I will leave you two ladies to talk. Please enjoy your evening."

With that, he left, his hand slowly slipping off her back. Lydia noticed the contact and her demeanour changed, her head higher and her eyes sharper.

"So, Hannibal tells me you are a researcher," Lydia started out slowly, her voice like velvet.

"Yes. I am a theoretical physicist. What do you do?" Mika replied, feeling uneasy. The woman's eyes were like a snake's, as if she were looking for any signs on weakness.

"I am a world-class pianist," she said proudly and Mika tried not to look too impressed.

"So, how is it that you and Hannibal met exactly?" she asked, turning her head to her side. The snake was coiling up slowly.

"We crossed paths during an FBI investigation Hannibal was a part of," Mika answered. That part she had rehearsed. It sounded better than saying she was caught up in a murder investigation. However, her words were vague and open to questions. Lydia stared at her blankly. "By crossed paths do you mean like suspect and interrogator?"

Mika smiled and covered her mouth before composing herself and stating, "Nothing quite so dramatic I'm afraid. I was merely an informant. I happened to be at the right place at the right time."

It was not too far of a stretch from the truth. At least, the version of the truth that Hannibal and her were dancing around.

"What is your relationship with Hannibal Lecter?" Lydia said suddenly. The snake coiled tighter.

Mika shrugged, looking thoughtful for a moment. "Well, since he described you as an old acquaintance, I would guess that I am simply a new acquaintance."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. Malice flickered on the beautiful woman's face and Mika looked down, feebly regaining her inner peace. The snake pounced. Lydia's eyes were narrowed as she spoke with a voice laced with venom, "Hannibal does like to get new toys every once in a while. I wonder how long before you are broken and thrown out."

Mika did not bother hiding her surprise. Even if this were spite talking, if there were the slightest truth to those words, she had to take them seriously. She stared deep into Lydia's eyes. The woman froze, confused that she did not get the response she expected. Yet, it appeared that Lydia was telling the truth.

Mika looked down and stepped back. She had nothing terrible to say in return. Part of her believed she even deserved those harsh words. "Thank you for the warning. I will take it to heart."

With that, she turned around and walked away, leaving Lydia speechless but angry. They both knew this was not over.

Mika wandered along to the next room, where she got herself a small appetizer from one of the waiters and stood by the wall. Alone, she was finally able to do what she had wanted to all along. Hannibal's house was so lavishly decorated and she was eager to examine his artifacts. She walked slowly along the edge of the wall, taking in the details. Everything from the embroidery on the walls to the carving of the furniture was planned out. As she walked from room to room, she slowly got an idea of the man living in them. After all, a lot can be said about a person by their belongings. The lack of personal photos and symbols of family was strange, and made the house seem a bit colder. From their previous conversations, all she knew was that he was raised by his aunt and uncle. She decided she would ask him about it later.

"I'm impressed. I thought Lydia was going to bite your head off," an unfamiliar male voice startled her out of her thoughts. Mika turned around and saw a tall, thin man with short brown hair. He wore a striped brown suit and a blue tie.

She offered him a small smile and faced him. He extended his hand out to her and said, "My name is Victor. May I ask yours?"

Shaking his hand firmly, she replied, "My name is Mika. It is a pleasure to meet you."

"You should watch your back tonight. When Lydia gets jealous, even the most reserved ladies flee," he said with a chuckle. Mika returned a feeble smile. She knew that Hannibal had wanted her to get along with Lydia, and that obviously had not worked out. His disappointment was not something she wanted to see.

Victor noticed her downcast expression and added, "But hey, don't worry. Half of the people at this party hate her, and the other half simply won't admit it."

Mika chuckled and looked up at Victor. He seemed simpler somehow. She could not see the veil that so readily covered Hannibal's face on him. She found that appealing.

"You said Lydia was jealous. Why?" she asked and he raised his eyebrows. He leaned closer and replied, "It's obvious! Our gracious host has a thing for you. And since she has a thing for him... Well, let's just say you're in the middle of a very ugly train wreck."

Mika balked at him. His implications about Hannibal's feelings were odd and unwelcome. Victor had to be misinterpreting something. All she shared with the good doctor was curiosity.

Sighing, she said, "I think you are mistaken. I am simply an observer."

Victor shrugged and smiled at her. "If you say so, little miss scientist."

Feeling lighter, Mika said, "Let me guess. You're a plus one on the invitation."

"Indeed I am," he replied and pointed across the room to a man in a grey suit. "My lawyer brother always drags me along to these things. He thinks that it will make me more well-cultured."

At the last word, Victor sucked in his cheeks and lifted his pinkie in the air, raising his head proudly. Mika laughed and covered her mouth, and he grinned at her.

They spent the next hour chatting excitedly. He would make jokes, and she would respond with sarcastic jabs. Quietly, they laughed at the side of the room, moving only to grab the occasional appetizer. She felt at ease with him, and she was grateful for the pleasant company. Maybe this night would not be a total disaster after all.

When Hannibal rang a bell, all of the guests filed into the dining room. Lydia immediately sat at the head of the table, at Hannibal's right side. Mika glanced at the long dining table and she wondered what would be a safe distance away from the angry beauty and the host. Before she could make up her mind, Victor grabbed her by the hand and led her to the middle of the table with a smile. He seated her, then plopped down beside her.

"Careful, the viper is scoping you out," he whispered when he leaned closer. She brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear and gave Victor a sly smile. Then, she whispered back, "Is it wrong to enjoy this? I can't even remember the last time anyone has been jealous of me."

He raised his eyebrows, started at her curiously for a moment, then reassured, "Well, you must have a good choice of friends. Since doctor psychiatrist over there dragged you here, you can enjoy whatever you want."

The sound of spoon clinking against a wine glass quieted the hushed conversations, as all eyes turned to the head of the table, to the gracious host. He genuinely looked happy, and Mika could not help but stare. She could not understand why he would be so pleased to have a dinner party. Considering his usual stoic self, this reaction was unwarranted. She narrowed her eyes as she pondered the question. There was something about Hannibal that she did not trust. He was like a puzzle that had most of its pieces missing, and she was left to interpret _what_ he was based on only the edges. She sighed and blinked the thought away, deciding she would bring it up with him later.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to thank you all for making it here this evening," Hannibal started, his smooth voice ringing through the room.

"It is a pleasure to dine with friends, both old and new," he continued, his eyes locking with hers briefly. "The holiday season is busy, but I hope you enjoy this chance to relax and converse."

"But I will not bore you any further. May dinner be served," he finished and everyone clapped. There was that charming smile again. He truly enjoyed this attention. A realization hit her like a wave. Hannibal was _lonely_.

"Hey, look at this funny thing," Victor snapped her out of her swirling thoughts. He pointed at an odd type of clam shaped mildly like a skull, and prodded the red, jelly-like substance inside the cranium. Mika furrowed her brow, and looked at her own plate. She, too, had one of them. They exchanged confused looks and scooped out theirs.

"To new experiences," Mika said with a grin and took a bite. Victor followed shortly after. They laughed and dug into their meal with wide smiles. They whispered commentary on the dishes and the other guests to each other, trying to keep their laughing to a minimum. They looked like two friends that had known each other for years.

A waiter came up to them and politely interrupted, "The host said you would like a beverage free of alcohol."

Mika nodded and he poured her some light pink drink into her wine glass. She thanked him and then turned back to Victor's confused expression.

"No alcohol?" he asked, clearly bewildered.

She nodded sternly and stated, "I, to my greatest embarrassment, am a recovering alcoholic."

"No!" he exclaimed a bit too loudly, causing her to glare at him. He apologized then said, "No way. I know an alcoholic when I see one."

"I said I was recovering," she insisted, then added, "And a true lady is good at hiding her weaknesses."

"Then I am honoured that you have shared your darkest secret with me, my lady," he said in a mock tone, picked up her hand and kissed her fingers. She blushed and looked away, to the head of the table.

A shiver went down her spine when she saw Hannibal's cold glare. It was pointed toward Victor, and she was startled by the harshness of it. Her wide eyes locked with Hannibal's, and she instantly looked away.

She spent the rest of the evening enjoying the fine food, and learning more about Victor. She sipped her drink slowly and took in the atmosphere. With such pleasant company, the evening was turning out great. Only an hour or so was left before she could quietly slink out and back to her home. After all this socializing, her couch and her favourite television shows looked like heaven.

It was half an hour later, when dessert was served, that she felt something strange. It was a slight dizziness, lasting only a second. But that was enough. Mika froze and her eyes shot to her wine glass. It was alcohol. She looked down, her expression suddenly becoming grave. It would only be a matter of time before her condition worsened. The dizziness would increase and she wouldn't be able to move around.

Victor noticed her sudden change of mood, and started asking her if she was alright. Without looking at him, she stood up and said, "Please excuse me. I have to go."

He was surprised and sputtered, "Go? Go where?"

However, she was not listening. She calmly walked out of the room and to the hallway. She had a water bottle in her car, and if she drank all of it, she might be able to get this to blow over within an hour. She reached for her keys in her small purse and headed for the front door.

"Mika, what's wrong?" Victor called out behind her and she cursed under her breath. She had hoped he would not follow her. Turning, she gave him a false smile and said, "I'm sorry, but something has come up. I really have to go."

He opened his mouth to say something when Hannibal came in. His sharp eyes focused on her and she gulped. He stood between Victor and her and said, "Is everything alright?"

Becoming frustrated, she said, "The dinner was lovely, but I really have to go."

Hannibal turned to Victor and said coldly, "You should go back to the table. I will take care of her."

Victor hesitated, but then turned his heel and left. Meanwhile, Mika marched over to the door and unlocked it. She was about to swing the door open and leave when he put his hand on the door.

She looked up at him, her eyes narrowing dangerously. In no mood to play games, she said in a low voice, "You would stop me from leaving?"

He took a step toward her, his dark eyes staring into hers. "This is my home. I'm afraid I must insist."

She tensed when he brought his hand up to her forehead. He frowned and said, "How much alcohol did you have?"

Glaring up at him she said, "I don't know. I thought that the drink you sent me was free of alcohol."

"It was supposed to be," he said, more to himself then her. He grabbed her by the hand and started walking in the direction of the kitchen, but she would not budge.

"You're allergic, aren't you? I can help reverse the effects," he said slowly, trying to convince her of his good intentions. But she did not trust him. Nonetheless, she sighed and followed him. The kitchen was empty and he quickly grabbed a glass from his cupboard. Mika covered her face when another wave of dizziness washed over her. She did not see him slip some white powder into the cup.

He handed her and glass and said, "It will make you feel better, trust me."

She reluctantly took the glass from him, gave him a weary glance, and then downed the entire thing. He grabbed her hand again and she wanted to hiss at him. For a gentleman, he was quite rudely invading her personal space. He led her to the staircase and she stopped.

"I thought you might like some privacy while you rest. It will take some time for the effects to go away," he said and started walking up the steps. She followed slowly and he led her to one the guest bedrooms.

"Stay up here as long as you need to. I'm sorry this happened," he said and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She gave him a small smile, and with that, he left her alone.

When she was sure he was no longer within earshot, she let out a loud sigh. So desperately had she wanted the night to go smoothly. She walked over to the window and peaked from out behind the curtain. The stars were out, and there was a bit of snow on the ground. She was eager to get outside and home. Maybe she would sit in her backyard and watch the night sky move slowly.

Mika sat down on the bed when another wave of dizziness hit her. She waited patiently, practicing breathing exercises. This was a good chance to cool her head. Due to this incident, and all the observations she had made about Hannibal during the night, she found that her anger was starting to seep through. She did not trust him one bit, and she was irritated by the way he had found a way to casually touch her on so many occasions. She sighed and took a deep breath. This was yet another thing she would have to talk to him about.

The minutes ticked by quietly and she was glad to feel that she was less dizzy. Feeling optimistic, she stood up from the bed. Her eyes widened when her legs nearly gave way. She sat back on the bed. This was not one of her normal symptoms. As she tried to think, she found her head getting heavier. Her thoughts were slow, delayed.

Her breathing was slowing and her eye lids dropped. She was angry, so angry, but she could not muster the strength to get up. The bastard had drugged her.

* * *

 **End chapter 8.** **Our poor protagonist is allergic to alcohol, yet there was some in her drink! Where did it come from? And why did Hannibal slip the white powder in her drink?**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Chains, blood, screaming. Mika struggled as the Ripper pinned her to a metal table. He was too strong, and no matter how much she begged, he did not relent. He chained her arms first, tightening them so she could not move. She kicked and thrashed, but he soon had her legs restrained as well.

She stared up at him helplessly as he grabbed a screwdriver. She felt her mind break down, and all she could utter was a breathless, "No."

He lifted it up, holding it in both of his hands, and she cried. Hot tears streamed down the side of her face. He was going to kill her. Then, he struck her in the leg. The pain was beyond anything she had ever felt before. She screamed like an animal, thrashing with all of her might. Blood slowly dripped down and she felt it pool on the table.

When he grabbed another tool, she whimpered and shook her head, her mouth curved into an ugly frown. He did not hesitate as he put more and more holes into her. She screamed, and screamed until the blood began to flood her lungs. She coughed and heaved, choking on her own blood.

He stood still, watching silently. Then, he took out a scalpel. Mika sobbed as he used one hand to keep her mouth open, and cut with the other. There was so much blood, that when he took out her severed tongue, she could not even tell what it was. She stared at it, the last of her reason fading.

The blood pooled around her and rose. She tugged at her chains weakly as it climbed higher, soon threatening to swallow her whole. Mika struggled to keep her nose above the blood, but she could not do it. With another choked sob, she drowned in her own blood.

Falling, screaming, a voice in the darkness.

"Mika! Wake up, it's just a dream."

The feeling in her limbs came back slowly, and she gasped for breath. She felt two strong arms on hers, holding her still. With a pained breath, she opened her eyes.

A pair of red eyes met hers and she froze. She was face to face with the devil. Immediately, she flailed in his arms, pushing him away with all her might. He let go of her and she scurried backwards until her back touched a wall. A red glow lit the otherwise dark room, but she was transfixed on the thing sitting in front of her.

"Please don't hurt me," she whispered, her lips quivering. It tilted its head to the side, horns protruding from its head, and said, "Why are you afraid of me?"

"You're him, aren't you? You're what is under the black mask," she stuttered and then whispered, "You killed me."

"No, Mika, you are alive. Wake up, you are hallucinating," he said firmly and leaned closer to put a hand on her cheek. She flinched at the contact and tears welled up in her eyes.

"I don't understand," she said weakly, covering her face.

"Listen to the sound of my voice. It's me, Hannibal," he said and the voice suddenly became recognizable. She felt the room spinning and shifting, the colours changing in a blur. She stared at him with wide eyes, and froze when she saw the good doctor sitting on the bed. The room was dark, with the slightest light coming from a street light.

Confused and shaken, she covered her face again. This could not be real. Yet, as she felt the cold sweat on her body, and her dress clinging to her skin, she started to remember. She was alive.

Hannibal moved closer and she did not stop him as he pulled her into a hug. She held onto his shirt, buried her face into it, and cried. He put his hand on the back of her head and rocked her gently, whispering comforting words into her ear. She did not know how long they sat like that before she slipped back into the cold grip of sleep.

* * *

Waking up the next morning was like coming out of a coma. For a long time, Mika lay still, not sure what to make of the world. The line between dream and reality was a blurry one and it took a while for her to sort out what had happened. Her eyes glazed over as she ran through the previous night on fast-forward.

Lydia. Victor. Hannibal. The Devil.

She sighed and closed her eyes, wishing that what she was remembering was not true. There were a lot of things she needed to discuss with Hannibal, and none of them were pleasant. Slowly, she climbed out of the plush bed, glad to see that she was in the same clothes as last night. At least he hadn't touched her anymore.

Then, she froze. Her right leg felt lighter than it should have. She reached up her dress, to a strap on her thigh. Her knife was gone. Since the threat of the Ripper paying her a Christmas visit was very real, she had hidden the bone knife in her inner thigh. She shuddered at the thought of Hannibal taking it out. Embarrassed, she felt her face turning red. They would definitely be discussing personal boundaries today.

Her jewelry was on the nightstand and she grimaced. He had taken out her hair clips, and taken off her bracelets. Even though it was a kind enough gesture, she still felt violated. The thought of him taking the jewelry off her sleeping body made her feel weak.

Slowly, she stumbled into the bathroom. Despite it being a guest bathroom, it was still very lavish and spacious. She washed her face in the mirror, scrubbing off the previous night's make-up. The feeling of the cool water on her skin made her feel more alert, and her head was finally becoming clearer. However, she knew that it would take hours for her to get back to her normal self.

From the state she was in, she guessed that Hannibal had slipped her some strong sleeping pills. The fogginess in her head was the same as when she occasionally took the pills herself. It was also the reason she kept her use of them to a minimum. After all, it was difficult to use the laws of physics with a bleary mind.

It was still dark outside when she looked out of the window, so she guessed that it was around seven in the morning. She had not expected to start off her Christmas Eve like this.

She looked around the room for the rest of her belongings. Her small purse was no where to be found and she started feeling more frustrated. Her car keys and phone were inside, and she wanted to keep both out of the psychiatrist's hands. If need be, she would scour the entire house, find her belongings and stomp out. Part of her hoped that he was still asleep.

However, when she opened the door and was greeted by the smell of sausage cooking, she narrowed her eyes. He was just down the stairs, awake and hopefully ready for a very serious conversation.

Mika walked down the stairs slowly and silently, holding her breath. She still did not know what she was going to do when she saw him.

"Good morning Mika," he said from the kitchen, not bothering to look out. She jumped at the sound of his voice, paused, then sighed and walked into the kitchen.

He was standing by the stove, in a white dress shirt. His hair was a lot softer looking, not slicked back at all. As usual, his sharp eyes focused on her, but he looked apprehensive.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, hesitation in his voice. Ignoring his question, she sighed and turned her head to her side before saying, "We need to talk."

"Yes, we do," he replied in a low tone and turned off the stove. There was that apprehension again. On the small kitchen table, he had laid out a setting for two. "Breakfast is ready, please sit."

Part of her wanted to tell him to stick his breakfast up his arse, but she was too tired and hungry to satisfy her pride. So, slowly, she sat down and waited as he placed their plates down. He had made sausage with fruits. The meal looked appetizing and part of her wanted to forgo the serious conversation, opting to enjoy breakfast instead. Yet, she did not bother to touch her fork.

"How long have you been having nightmares?" he asked, picking up a fork and knife before cutting into the sausage.

"A few months," she replied, avoiding his gaze.

"And how often are they?" he continued. Reluctantly, she replied, "A couple of times a month."

"What did you see when you opened your eyes last night?" He asked and she bit her lower lip. Hesitantly, she whispered, "I saw the devil."

He nodded and looked back down at his plate. Somehow, he did not seem surprised.

"Why have you been having nightmares, Mika?" he asked, his stare more pointed.

She took a deep breath and replied sharply, "I do not think it is a good idea for me to answer a man that drugs his guests."

He was offended because his posture became more stiff and he said in a serious tone, "I merely gave you a sleeping draft. It was for your benefit."

From the way he looked at her she could tell that he truly thought that he had acted correctly. And that scared her.

"I would like to be able to decide what is and is not in my benefit," she retorted hotly.

"In my house, I must insist on my methods," he replied calmly and she narrowed her eyes.

"Alright. Let's talk about your methods then. There were a lot of things I noticed last night that were concerning," she replied, leaning back in her chair.

"Changing the subject will not solve your problems. I am not done discussing this," he warned and she faltered. The good doctor could be frightening when he was more forceful.

Mika paused and took a deep breath. "First, I think we should discuss personal boundaries."

He stared at her blankly and she suddenly felt very self conscious. She did not feel comfortable having to spell out exactly what it was about his behaviour that bothered her.

"I am sure you understand that I do not like being touched," she started slowly. Then, averting her eyes, she said hurriedly, "I want you to keep your hands more to yourself."

The look he gave her made her want to run out of the room. It was a smouldering stare, one that questioned every word she said. He saw right through her discomfort and to her deep, dark insecurities. A shiver went down her spine and she swallowed the nervous lump in her throat.

Finally, he said, "If that is what you would like, I could try."

She pursed her lips, but did not say anything further. His answer would have to suffice for the time being. Gingerly, she picked up her cutlery and started on the meal. She was weary, but she hoped that he would not have the audacity to drug her twice. If he did, she would have to seriously reconsider their strange friendship.

"Is something else on your mind?" he enquired after a few minutes of silence.

She wanted to ask him about what Lydia had said the night before. The not-so-subtle comment on Hannibal's friend discarding habits was heavy on her mind. Something told her that if he were to throw her away, it would not be in the same condition he had befriended her. Being a psychiatrist, there was a lot of damage he could inflict under her skin.

However, given the tense mood, it was not a topic she wanted to breech at the moment. So, instead, she said, "I want you to give me my knife back."

Curiosity flickered on his features. "I am not sure I can."

She furrowed her brow, ready to demand again. Knowing this, he explained, "Your knife is made of human bone. It is my obligation as an FBI consultant to report this."

Mika shook her head. Narrowing her eyes, she said, "From simply looking at it, you cannot know it is human, which it isn't. Besides, you had no right to reach up my dress and get it."

He drew a long breath, leaning back and running his tongue on the back of his teeth.

"Why did you bring a knife to my dinner party?" he asked, not bothering to deny her accusations. She put her fork down and crossed her arms, looking away.

"It wasn't for the party. It was for the trip there and back," she said vaguely. He stared at her silently and with a small huff, she continued, "I need it for a personal vendetta. That knife represents justice."

His expression darkened. "You are planning on stabbing someone."

She threw her hands up in the air, unable to deny it. "Only in self defense. I'm not going out looking for a fight."

"It sounds like you are," he replied, putting down his cutlery as well.

"Are you going to give it back to me or not?" she asked testily.

His piercing eyes lingered on her as he seemed to be pondering something. Then, he stood up from his chair and walked to a cabinet at the end of the large kitchen. From one of the top shelves, he pulled out her knife.

"I will give it back to you on one condition. Tell me what you are so afraid of that you scream in the night," he said and she froze. Scream. She had screamed. Mika closed her eyes and took a slow breath. On some mornings, she woke up with a sore throat, and until now, she thought it was simply the cold dry air. Hannibal tilted his head to the side, waiting for an answer.

"How loud?" she whispered. "How loud were my screams?"

He paused, unsure what to say. First, he sat back down across from her, placing the knife carefully between them. Then, he spoke, "It was as if you were being murdered in your bed."

She was crestfallen. It was painful to admit, even to herself, that the Ripper had such a strong grip on her unconscious. She held her head in her hands, wishing she could disappear. They sat in silence a minute, the clock ticking quietly in the background.

Drawing a shaky breath, she said, "I am afraid of dying."

He looked into her eyes and she saw understanding. No judgement, disappointment, or even curiosity. Simply understanding. In that moment, it was all she needed. Hannibal slid the knife over to her and she stared at it hollowly. Then, he stood and from another cupboard, pulled out her small purse.

"All of your belongings are inside," he said, his voice even.

Her voice barely above a whisper, she said, "Thank you for comforting me last night."

Since she was looking down, she did not see the sly smile creep on his lips. She picked up her bag and stood slowly. Although she was not done her breakfast, and it was rude to leave such a fine dish unfinished, she was intent on getting home. For once, Hannibal did not seem to object and he followed her silently down the hall to the main door.

Feeling a bit bolder, she stopped and turned to face him. Slowly, she walked closer to him, until she was standing right in front of him. He looked down at her curiously, still yet alert. She reached up until her hand was at his head, and she touched the side of his face cautiously.

"You don't have to be so lonely," she said softly, smiling at him gently. A flicker of emotion passed through his face, but it vanished before she could read it. She paused, looking for any trace of the man behind the mask. Upon finding none, she withdrew her hand and turned away.

She was about to open the door when he grabbed her by the arm. Startled, she turned back to him and gave him a quizzical stare.

"Wait. There is something I must know. I can't let you leave until you've told me the truth," he said and she flinched openly. There were so many lies between them that it was impossible to tell which one he was referring to.

"That night, when your fingerprints were found at the crime scene, you said you were intoxicated. How can that be when you cannot tolerate even small amounts of alcohol?" he asked, his tone veiled with accusation. She wiggled her arm out of his grip, and then turned to glare at him. This is what she was hoping to avoid talking about.

"Simple. I _can_ tolerate some alcohol," she explained, trying not to sneer.

"Except, you did not do that. I saw the look in your eyes when you realized what you had drunk. You were afraid," he said and anger flashed in her eyes.

"Do not presume to know what I was feeling," she hissed. Then, taking a step forward, she continued, "Is that why you invited me to the dinner? So you could get me drunk and then put me to sleep? Was this all some kind of sick experiment?"

He did not appreciate the accusation because he narrowed his eyes. In a low tone, he said, "I would never do anything to hurt you."

She looked away, anger subsiding slowly. Though she wanted to believe those words, she could not tell whether he was lying or not.

After a pause, she said, "Alright. Say what you will, but I need to get home."

"You don't believe me," he said blankly and she pursed her lips. She distrusted him with every fibre of her being, but she did not want to say that. Too many harsh words had already been exchanged.

"I can't do this right now. Goodbye," she said stiffly and before he could stop her, she swung the door open.

Surprised wide eyes met sharp angry ones.

"Lydia," Mika stuttered.

* * *

 **End chapter 9. What is Lydia doing at Hannibal's house?**

 **Also, for now, the chapters are from the point of view of the protagonist, but later on we will get to see Hannibal's perspective!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Surprised, wide eyes met sharp, angry ones.

"Lydia," Mika said, her chest clenching. This was not good. Lydia looked like she was going to reach up and strangle her.

From all appearances, it looked like she had stayed the night with Hannibal. She was wearing the same clothes as the night before and she was flushed, making it all look so inappropriate. Lydia had no idea that they had spent the night separately and the morning arguing.

Both women were speechless, staring at each other, a thousand thoughts running through their minds. Hannibal, ever the calm and collected one, said, "Lydia, you left your necklace here last night. I'm assuming you're here for it."

Regaining her composure, she replied in that regal tone of hers, "Yes, it was silly of me to forget it."

Mika furrowed her brow. One did not simply forget something attached to their neck. Why would she take it off in the first place? It looked like an excuse for her to come see the good doctor.

"Right, well, you're busy so I'm just going to go home now," Mika blurted quickly, stepping out of the front door. Like lightning, Hannibal grabbed her by the arm. Lydia looked even more offended.

"I'm afraid not. We are not finished talking," he said, his tone firm.

Turning around, Mika hissed, "Oh yes we are. I'll let last night's little incident slide, but if you do anything similar again, it's over."

Hannibal's piercing eyes turned to Lydia. In a low, threateningly calm voice, he said, "You have some explaining to do."

"Me?" Lydia balked at him, feigning hurt.

"Tell Mika the reason she felt unwell after her drink," he continued. Mika looked between them in confusion. Hannibal was irritated, an emotion she never thought she would see on his face, and his grip on her arm became firmer as he spoke. In fact, this entire morning, he had expressed several emotions she did not expect, the blatant forcefulness being one of them. Given how calm he usually was, she was surprised someone as simple as herself could elicit such a response from him.

Lydia sighed and brushed some dust from her sleeves. Then, slowly, she admitted, "I talked to one of the bus boys last night and I told him to slip some alcohol into your drink."

Then, in a lighter tone, "It was only a little bit of fun."

Mika narrowed her eyes. Lydia was the reason she had stayed the night, and the reason Hannibal now suspected her alibi. It was only a matter of time before he figured out her secret relationship with the Ripper.

"You're prefect for each other," she muttered, rolling her eyes. Then, she yanked her arm away from Hannibal and walked away. At last, he let her go. She did not turn around as she went back to her car. This was not the end of it, though. She was certain that he would call her or show up unannounced at her home sometime soon. But she had time. Time to come up with answers to all of his questions, and time to rehearse them. It was now her mission to fool the psychiatrist.

"Merry Christmas," she whispered dryly to herself as she climbed into the car.

* * *

Everything came crashing down on New Year's Eve. The walls she had built collapsed around her, trapping her in the rubble of her own broken psyche.

It had been a day like any other. She was hell bent on avoiding Hannibal so she spent her days in her basement, refusing to answer any calls or rings at the door. She had even parked several blocks away to make it look like no one was home.

She was not ready to talk with him again. He had frightened her on their last meeting, making her wonder if it was a good idea to keep seeing him at all. She lay awake at night, wondering what kind of person lay behind the mask. None of the ideas she got were good, and she never wanted to step foot in his house again. The thought of him drugging her again made her shudder.

In her spare time, she practiced lying in the mirror. She watched the way her eyes moved, how to keep her posture proper, and how her tone changed. After a while, she started believing the lies herself.

She had nothing to do with the Chesapeake Ripper. She had seen nothing at the warehouse and she had no reason to be afraid. Her nightmares were due to work stress. She was _normal_.

It was a Saturday so she decided that she should get out of the house. So, she got dressed and headed over to her favourite local park for a long walk. It was at the far end of the city, and it had a large pine forest nestled with dozens of trails. The main feature of the park was the cold, icy blue river that went through it.

A few hours later, she was deep in the forest, walking along a small bush trail. There were no people around, as few seemed to be willing to spend their New Year's Eve in a frozen forest.

The sound of a branch snapping nearby put her into high alert. Instinctively, she grabbed the bone knife and looked around. There were many trees around her, making dozens of potential hiding places.

She scanned the surroundings carefully, tensing up and whirling around when she heard another branch snap. Mika froze, her eyes wide, when she saw a white-tailed deer step out from behind a tree. Each was surprised to see the other, and they stared at each other silently.

Slowly, Mika put the knife away and pulled out her phone. She tried not to move as she snapped a couple of photos of the beautiful creature. Then, satisfied, she turned away and kept walking down the path. The walk back to the parking lot was uneventful and she was pleasantly tired, ready to get home. She looked around the parking lot, but something was wrong.

Her car was gone. Mika stopped in her tracks, checking again. Someone had actually stolen her car.

She shook her head, disbelief on her features. For a moment, she had no idea what she was going to do. With a sigh, she pulled out her phone, deciding that first, she had to get out of here. She dialed the number for a close friend of hers, hoping to ask for a ride.

However, she had no reception. Furrowing her brow at her phone, she grew increasingly worried. She did not remember ever having problems with reception in this park before. After all, this park was so close to the city.

"No," she muttered, staring hard at her phone. Her instincts were screaming at her to run. This situation seemed too unnatural, as if someone had orchestrated the whole thing. If it was _him_ , she had to get out of there immediately.

There was no one around so she decided that the best thing to do was to walk back to the main road, and hope to get reception there. If worse came to worst, she could even try hitchhiking. Knowing that daylight was scarce, she briskly started walking.

A few minutes later, she saw something lying in the middle of the road. As she got closer, she saw that it was her pack of CD's. She used them for her long commute, and road trips. Looking close, she saw that the pack had been opened to a blank slot, where there was a typed note.

 _Don't fight._

A shiver went down her spine. This was a trap.

She whipped around, looking around frantically. She felt like a cornered animal, and the predator was about to strike. Why would he tell her not to fight?

She reached for the bone knife again, gripping it until her knuckles turned white. If he intended to kidnap her again, she would not make it easy for him.

The forest was silent, and darkness was slowly descending. Her mind was racing, wondering how to get out safely. Her gut and her mind were pulling her in different directions. Since she knew the trails so well, part of her wanted to head back into the forest and hide out. However, the rational part of her insisted on getting to safety through the use of help from others. Hitchhiking seemed like a really good idea now.

Finally, she decided that she would use her common sense. If she were to stay in the forest, she would surely get hypothermia. Perhaps it was what he was counting on.

Mika took a deep breath and started walking toward the road again. She knew there was a trap up ahead so she was in no hurry to get there. She felt like a fool about to march straight to hell, thinking it was the road to heaven.

The sound of air being sliced behind her made her stop and turn, but it was too late. Out of the darkness behind her, a rope with weights on its ends flew out and wrapped around her legs. She gasped and fell when her legs became tangled violently.

She dropped the knife and reached for her legs, frantically trying to untie herself. The rope was thick and made of metal, and the weights were heavy. Her hands were shaking as she frustratingly slowly untangled herself.

A shadow emerged from the darkness, tall and threatening. The Ripper walked toward her at a leisurely pace and she felt like she was going to die from the fright. He was in complete control of the situation.

As she got herself free, she leaped up and put her hands up in front of herself defensively. She had to run. There was no way he could outrun her in that stiff plastic suit of his.

Knowing her intentions, he pulled out another rope with weights, twirling it in the air menacingly. If she turned to run, he would get her again. Was it a chance she was willing to take?

Yes.

Mika turned and bolted into the forest. With instinct she did not know she had, she leaped over the obstacles in the dark and toward the tall pines. She weaved between the trees like an animal fleeing for its life.

The breath was knocked out of her when the second rope with weights hit her. It wrapped around her chest and she stumbled forward, running right into the trunk of a tall evergreen. Her arms were tied to her sides and she felt disoriented, having hit her head.

She turned to keep running, but she was too slow. He was upon her like a bear. He turned her around and shoved her against the tree trunk roughly. Petrified, she stared at him, her lips quivering. Mika did not bother to scream, as they both knew no one would hear her.

"Please, not like this," she stuttered as he put one hand around her throat, stepping closer so he could put a leg between hers. Then, he squeezed.

Even though it was the second time she had been strangled, it did not help. The pain and anguish was horrific, and she felt utterly helpless as the life slowly left her limbs. The last thing she saw before everything went black was his black, featureless face.

* * *

 **End chapter 10. Shorter chapter this time as the Ripper gets his hands on her once again. What is his intention this time, and how long can this game of catch and release go on?**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

The familiar feeling of pain was the first thing she became aware of. Her whole body felt sore and she had a nasty headache coming on. Slowly, she became aware that she was in another warehouse, sitting in a large chair.

Her shoulders felt stiff and she reached up to rub them. She froze when she realized that her hands were not tied to the chair. The urge to escape was like a spark and despite her foggy state off mind, she jumped up, ready to run. However, as she took her first step, she was disappointed to see that her feet were chained together with shackles. Since the chain was so short, she would not be able to do any running.

Still, this gave her a chance to look around. As usual, it was dark and she was in a large room with a few high, narrow windows. She wanted to hide, or grab a weapon, but she knew that would not turn out well. The Ripper was always prepared, probably lurking in the shadows and watching at this very moment.

She took a slow, deep breath and shuffled toward the middle of the room, where there was a metal table covered with a bed sheet. At this point, it was no surprise that there was a person under it. She lifted the sheet up, narrowing her eyes when she saw that it was a woman. She had brown shoulder length hair and she was about the same height and weight as Mika. Beside her head, there was a photo of the woman, smiling and dressed in a lab coat. Her heart started to race. The Ripper was going to kill a woman just like her. A cold shudder went to the base of her spine and she felt sick with terror. There was no question; eventually he would kill her.

Beside the table, there was a smaller table with wheels, also covered in a sheet. She knew his tools were under it, and since she would see him using those later, she had no interest in seeing them now. Even if she grabbed a weapon, he could easily overpower her. After all, her only advantage was that she could run, and that was impossible right now.

 _Don't fight_.

The words echoed in her head, uneasiness invading her mind. As she stepped away, the rattling of chains made her look down. Attached to the two cuffs on her leg was another chain and shackle. She furrowed her brow, confused as to why it looked like the restraints were designed for three legs.

The sound of a rusty metal door opening behind her made her turn, her heart racing. It was so dark that she did not see him step inside. He just _appeared_. She stood petrified by the table, staring at him with wide eyes. At a leisurely pace, the murderer walked toward her, stopping a few feet away and putting one of his hands on the metal table.

"Why her?" Mika whispered, looking at the woman's face sadly. It seems she asked the same question every time, and deep inside, she hoped that one day, she would get an answer that did not make her heart hurt.

The Ripper stepped closer and it took her every fibre of her being not to back away. The sound of her blood flowing in her ears beat like a drum, but despite the storm in her mind, she was still. He gestured to the woman, and then to her. Mika's face fell. This was what she feared, that his intention was to torment her by killing someone like her.

"That's not a reason," she said, sadness overshadowing her features. He wagged his finger in front of her, cautioning her against speaking out further. She looked down, her hands starting to shake.

"I'm not complaining, but why am I not tied down?" she said, watching his movements carefully. He was only a few feet away so he could grab her very quickly.

In that strange, stiff way of his, he gestured for her to pick up the shackle that was on the ground beside her feet. She slowly bent down and did so, but it was only long enough to go down to her mid-thigh. It was open and he made the motion to clamp it down on his wrist, and then pointed to her. She understood this as a command to shackle her own left arm. Not tearing her eyes away from him, she closed the metal around her wrist, grimacing slightly when it locked shut. Now all she had free was her right arm.

Then, he waved for her to come closer to him. She stared at his hand, fear etched on her features. Though she had no idea what he intended to do, it did not take much sense to realize that it was not going to be something pleasant. However, she also knew that he could get quite rough if she did not comply to his silent orders.

So, she drew a shaky breath and took a tentative step toward him. His arm was still in the air, bidding her forward. As she walked toward him, she felt a twisted sense of shame. Here she was, not even putting up a fight. Yet, only a few months ago, she had jumped out of a window just to get away from him. Was she weak to give in so soon?

When she was right beside him, she stopped, shaking her head. He let out a short sigh and grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her to stand right in front of him. With a rough push, he put her right against the table, pinning her from behind. Her stomach dropped and her breathing stopped. The feeling of him right against her made her more anxious than she would like to admit. She could feel his breath on her neck, and her shaking got worse. The fear, ever present, kept her silent.

He reached over to the cloth covered in tools and unveiled it. When she saw them, her heart beat louder. There was a strange clamp-like thing and a scalpel.

When he picked up the scalpel, he leaned even closer, his chest touching her back. She leaned forward, but his hand snaked between her shackled arm and her stomach, pulling her flush against him. She was barely breathing at that point, horrified to see that he was now giving her an even closer look at his gruesome work.

Then it got worse. He grabbed her hand and put the scalpel in it, closing his fingers around hers so she was forced to hold the tool. She tensed up, taking a sharp breath. He was going to make her commit the crime.

Shaking her head quickly, she said firmly, "No."

He ignored her words and removed the sheet, revealing that the woman was naked underneath. She was thoroughly restrained, her neck and abdomen tied down with thick rope, and her arms and legs chained to the table.

When he brought her hand closer to the woman's body, Mika began to resist. She pushed back his hand, refusing to do what he wanted. However, he was stronger and in a sudden move, jerked her arm back so that the scalpel was at her throat. Mika clenched her teeth, breathing shallowly as she felt the cold metal against her throat. He held the scalpel tightly against her skin, with enough force to cause pain, but not enough to cut her.

"Do it," she hissed, her eyes narrowing. "I would rather die than become a murderer."

It was true. Having grown up in a Catholic home, she had strong opinions on murder. If hell existed, she certainly did not want to be going to it. Besides, she told herself wryly, it was only a matter of time before he killed her anyway. So what if it was a bit sooner than later. Her chest clenched painfully, but she stood her ground. After all, was it not the right thing to do to stand up for one's morals?

They stood still for a few seconds, until suddenly, he let go of her hand. With a quick swipe, he took the scalpel out of her hand and grabbed her by the arm roughly. She did not even have a chance to protest as he yanked her arm to the side and twisted. The pain exploded in her elbow, but he was not done. Then, he grabbed her wrist and with no hesitation, twisted it much further than it was designed to. She cried out, her whole arm throbbing in pain. He let go and her arm went limp.

She struggled in her bonds with ragged breathing. Her arm was paralyzed with pain and she could not move it without sending sharp stabs of pain up her arm and into her shoulder. He stood still, holding her from behind as she tried to reconcile the pain. When her breathing had slowed sufficiently, he reached for her hand again.

Mika whimpered, swallowing the lump in her throat before stuttering, "P-Please, don't make me do this."

He paid no attention to her pleas as he lifted her arm up to the table, making her clench her teeth. When he put the scalpel in her hand again she could no longer hold back the tears. A few drops went down her cheeks, landing on the metal table below.

All of the commotion seemed to have roused the victim on the table, because she moaned and started twisting in her binds. When the poor woman opened her eyes, they widened in terror. She struggled even more, her frantic breathing audible.

"Let me go!" she yelled, huffing loudly. Mika stared at the woman, her bottom lip shaking. The pain was making it hard to think, and it was as if she was floating in and out of consciousness for split seconds, making her feel dizzy.

"It's the Chesapeake Ripper," Mika said at last, out of breath. "He's going to kill you."

The woman's eyes grew wider and she looked around the room frantically. Then, she threw her head back and screamed.

"Help me! Can anyone hear me!?" she screeched, and the Ripper tensed. Mika knew he wanted to cut her throat, so she pushed up against him and tilting her head up, said, "Don't do it. You're going to end her life. At least have the decency to let her do what she wants in her last few minutes."

His grip on her tightened, and his arm wrapped around her chest. His fingers dug into her ribs and she arched against him. Still, he did not strike the woman, who continued to scream her head off.

He took a deep breath, pulling her arm closer to the victim's chest. Mika bit her tongue, holding her breath to stop herself from groaning in pain.

"What are you doing!?" the woman yelled as she saw the scalpel drawing near.

"I'm sorry," Mika said, tearing up again.

"He is doing this because of me," she continued, her lip quivering as she bit back a sob. Now more than ever, it was clear that she was to blame for the recent kills. It was not like the Ripper to strike so frequently.

Her limp arm could do nothing as he brought the scalpel to just below the woman's left breast. Mika looked away for a second when suddenly, he grabbed her roughly by the jaw and turned her head back. His grip was like stone and it hurt. She knew it was going to leave a bruise.

With a doctor's precision, he sliced along the length of her rib. The woman continued screaming, trying to move, but she was tied down too well. All she could do was watch in horror as her skin was split.

Then, he let go of Mika's hand, putting away the scalpel. Her arm dropped, laying limply on the woman's stomach. The Ripper then let go of her jaw and put both of his hands on the long cut. The woman screamed like an animal when he put his fingers into the wound, pulling the flesh apart with his bare hands. It was something she would never forget, the ease with which skin parted from bone.

The woman's screams got louder and shriller, as Mika watched in silent horror. With him right up against her, it was as if she had lost her voice. Blood poured from the open wound, trickling down the woman's side and onto the metal table.

Quickly and methodically, the Ripper took his next tool, a clamp-like, metal device with two latches. When he started positioning it between two of her ribs, Mika started feeling ill. It was a rib spreader. Her eyes started to roll back and she felt light-headed. When the Ripper felt her lean on him more, he let go of the tool and brought his hands up to Mika's face, slapping her lightly to keep her awake, smearing blood on her face in the process.

Then, he got back to work, putting the tool in place. It had a hand-cranked lever in the middle, to manually push the ribs apart. The screaming never stopped, becoming throatier and more desperate by the minute. He started turning the lever and bone yielded to metal. It was morbidly enthralling to watch as the woman's ribs slowly spread apart, revealing her lung and part of her heart beneath. The screams grew and grew and grew.

Then, silence. Mika broke into a sob when the woman went limp on the table, having fainted from the pain. However, she was still alive because beneath the blood and tissue, she could see the faint beating of her heart.

The Ripper wrapped his arm around her chest again, his fingers digging painfully into her side. With his other hand, he grabbed her limp arm and moved it to over the bloody, open cavity.

"Why are you doing this?" Mika whispered, her voice constricted. Tears were streaming down her face and she was shaking again.

Like a puppet master, he put his fingers between hers and put their hands into the hole he had made. He guided her hand deeper, and she felt her stomach lurch at the feeling of the woman's warm flesh on her skin. Then, he wrapped her hand around her still-beating heart.

Mika froze, feeling the soft pulses of life beneath her fingers. The woman's life was literally in her hands. It felt humbling to realize how small life was, and how easily it could be stopped.

Then, he squeezed. Her eyes widened and she tried to make him loosen up.

"No! No, I want her to live!" Mika pleaded, fighting the burning pain in her arm as she tried to get her wounded limb to fight back. With her left hand, she grabbed his pant leg, tugging on it desperately. It was the most painful thing she had ever experienced.

His arm was like stone, and his grip on her hand was like that of the devil, stiff and unyielding. The hapless organ beat frantically in her palm, until it slowed suddenly, and then stopped.

Mika froze, her own heart beating dully in her chest. She could not control it as she felt her mind shatter. It felt like a tugging sensation, originating from the deepest corners of her consciousness. A million spiderweb fractures broke inside her mind and she was barely aware of the hot tears streaming down her face.

She was a murderer.

That thought was the final blow, and she collapsed into a thousand pieces. It felt like being torn apart from the inside, as if her very soul had fled her body. The silence was deafening as she fell into the abyss of her own broken mind.

As she lost consciousness, he held up her limp body and gently stroked her cheek, smearing fresh blood on it. Then, he rested his chin on her head and sighed. He still had a long way to go with her.

* * *

 **End.**

Thank you for all the wonderful reviews! And for the patience with my updating. To answer some of your questions, I try not to describe the physical appearance of OC's too often, since it makes it easier to identify with a character you imagine in your head. As for what Hannibal thinks of Mika, he certainly has plans for her, and I like to believe that he wants to open his heart to her. He's been so lonely for so many years that I think it's plausible, especially since that is really what he wants from Will Graham – to be understood and (to some extent) loved.


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